Haunt
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Hurled into the past, Hermione accidentally catches Peter in his defining act of betrayal, inadvertently sparing both the Potters and Voldemort. Sirius & Remus, just realizing their feelings for one another, find their hearts and intentions complicated by their need to protect her from a Dark Lord who wants the eerily prophetic woman very, VERY, dead. (triad fic) SPORADIC UPDATES
1. One Really-Dead Butterfly

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES :**

1) There is no intention for _Haunt_ to be like 'this' or 'that' Time Turner fic that is already out there. I haven't actually read _any_ Time Turner fics, this plunnie just bit and wouldn't go away (yes, this includes _Debt of Time_ [unthinkable to some of you, I know]. Shaya is actually a good friend of mine, and she _knows_ I will not read her story. I love her, but I refuse to read _any_ story in which I may get so caught up I forget to see to my basic survival needs [same goes for Canimal's fic _The Minister's Secret_ ]).

2) May contain some AU elements. We don't have many solid canon facts about this time period (barring afterthought nonsense heaved on us via Pottermore), so I will go with things that feel right for this story, even if they fly in the face of what has been dictated otherwise in Post-DH 'canon' reveals. This is especially true, given the nature of this fic's plot, in that it relies on upsetting the canon order of events.

3) I love you all, but do not come at me with 'science facts' about theories of time travel, the butterfly effect, or any other wibbly-wobbly timey-whimey stuff. Yes, Hermione metaphorically steps on a butterfly in a big, _BIG_ , way here, but the telling [and reading] of this story is meant to be all in fun, sheerly for entertainment purposes, as such, potential scientific ramifications of time magic can go hang ?.

4) Updates may be sporadic, chapter lengths may vary wildly (some chapters may be less than 2k, others may be over 5).

* * *

 **FANCAST** [in no particular order, and no guarantee they will appear]:

Jared Leto as _Sirius Black_ ; Tom Hiddleston as _Remus Lupin_ ; Emmett J Scanlan as _James Potter_ ; Karen Gillan as _Lily Evans-Potter_ ; Henry Cavill as _Voldemort_ ; Charlie Heaton as _Peter Pettigrew_ ; Alexander Skarsgard as _Lucius Malfoy_ ; Charlize Theron as _Narcissa Malfoy_ ; Jason Momoa as _Fenrir Greyback_ ; Michiel Huisman as _Antonin Dolohov_ (any roles not listed intended as portrayed by their film actors).

 *** If you do not agree with my fancast choices, feel free to imagine whomever you like in these roles** (literally the only reason I post fancast lists is because when I don't, I get barraged with questions about who I picture as the characters).

 **DISCLAIMER :** I do not own _Harry Potter_ , or any affiliated characters, and make no profit in any form from the creation or sharing of this work.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

One _Really_ -Dead Butterfly

"What? No!" Hermione was _seething_. It wasn't what Harry was asking. It was that he knew how dangerous even thinking it was. He knew how dangerous meddling with such things could turn out.

And yet, he was attempting to play on her sympathies to get her to see things his way, all the same.

Pressing her fingertips against her temples, she glared at her best friend. If she'd told him once, she'd told him a thousand times . . . .

"But you don't think it's—"

"What? _Fate_?" Her brows shot up as she continued to gape at him.

He threw up his arms, the offending artifact clutched in the fingers of his right hand. "Well, when you say it in _that_ tone . . . . Look, all I know is with everything moving so fast with Gin and me, I've been really wondering what it'd be like to have my parents here. To be able to talk to them about this. They were our age when I was born, so you know . . . ." He shrugged and looked off, his voice dropping low. "Only Time Turner left in existence, and I happen to stumble across it just when I'm thinking all this. Can you really say you wouldn't think the same thing in my shoes?"

Her entire frame seemed to droop. Here he was talking about tones, and he went and used the one that _always_ pulled at her heartstrings. Bastard.

With a sigh, she shuffled across the floor of the parlor at 12 Grimmauld Place and dropped herself to sit beside him on the sofa. "I can't say that, of course I can't," she said with a shake of her head. "But you know it's dangerous. Time magic is inherently dangerous, Harry. I mean, why else would everyone worry about something as seemingly innocuous as stepping on a damn butterfly?"

"But what if it is possible? You know?" He frowned, giving a headshake of his own. "What if it is, and the only reason we're told it's not, shouldn't be, or can't be changed, is because no one has dared to try it?"

"And with good reason! No one knows what could happen if someone changed the past. Maybe your parents live. Maybe Voldemort still dies, maybe Peter Pettigrew gets _stuck_ as a bloody rat and has to live out his days as Scabbers. But there are so many things that can go wrong. That's why Time Turners are only designed to safely travel back a handful of hours."

"Isn't that kind of a loophole right there?"

The witch's brows pinched together as she asked, "How so?"

He shrugged once more. "Well, if you go back say . . . five hours. You're five hours in the past. What's to stop you from going five hours back after that, and so on and so on, until you're in your desired time, but only traveling in those _safe_ increments of time?"

Her eyes widened as she stared at him. Holy . . . Mother of . . . . He was right! That was madness on the face of it. The monotony, alone, of traveling backward a handful of hours at a clip was likely to drive one insane, but he was right. That _was_ possible. Big, fat loophole staring her in the face this entire time and she'd never even seen it!

The zip of thoughts whirring through her head at the very idea—

"Whoa, wait, no!" She slapped her palms against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut.

Harry wasn't looking at her. He'd dropped his gaze to the toes of his own shoes as he chewed at his lower lip. "It could work, couldn't it, though? Potential induction of madness aside. It could possibly work if it was done that way, couldn't it?"

She let out a huff of air and shook her head. "Honestly? Maybe. But it's all theory. I'm not going to be the one to give it a try. And if you tried it, and something happened to you, and Ginny found out _I_ was the one who let you? Hell, no, Harry!"

"But—"

"Tell you what," she said, knowing he wasn't going to let this go until she gave him a concrete _why_ of this not working, or at least no one risking their neck to try. "I will do the research. I will look into precisely how many hours back a Time Turner is thought to _safely_ travel. From that information, I'll work out just how much time and effort it would take to continuously move backward by increments to . . . let's say 1980? When you see those numbers before you, because I _know_ they'll be daunting, will you give this up and let me take that _thing_ to the Ministry?"

Tipping his head up to meet her gaze, he responded, "Okay. But . . . you really want to do that research now, don't you? You'd be running to fetch books even if I said to forget the whole thing."

She offered him a withering expression even as she climbed to her feet to go about finding research materials. "Oh, you just think you know me so well."

Neither of them paid much mind to the shifty little shadow that slunk past the parlor entryway, presumably on his way to handle some household chore or another.

* * *

Some nights later, Hermione fell asleep at the rolltop desk in the room Harry'd lent her as a research space. She had thought for certain she had a few more hours in her, but after barely sleeping a wink since he'd pointed out that loophole, her body betrayed her.

Just as she'd found the answer, but God, how she hated having to account for leap years,and the number of turns, alone, was daunting. Breaking them up into twelve hour intervals—the absolute outside estimate for travel before things became _uncertain_ —only seemed even more daunting. So much to keep track of!

As she stared at the final figures, confident in her calculations—Harry would _surely_ back down when he saw the math behind it all—the surge of excitement took the last little bit of energy from her and suddenly, she was snoring face-down on the polished, antique wood surface.

He stepped into the room, hardly needing to sneak, as his footfalls were so light. He'd heard them discussing this fearsome meddling days ago, but he'd ignored it. Until he heard his master talk the filthy, corruptive Mudblood into _math'ing_! It was all her fault, anyway— _her_ influence on Master. He was sure it must be. He would _not_ lose another master. Blood-traitor perhaps he was, but all good pure-bloods were dead now or gone away.

Kreacher needed Master. He did not want to be free, ever. Did not want to be like those other _lazy_ elves.

He couldn't harm her. No, Master ordered such. But this . . . who could really call _this_ harming? He was sending her away to protect Master. Yes, that was all.

Looking to the final figures on the parchment laid out beside the sleeping witch's head, Kreacher held up the artifact he'd sneaked from his slumbering master's room. That was a _lot_ of turns. That was all right. He had hours enough while Master and the Mudblood slept. The number was right there.

He simply had to do it all at once.

Carefully looping the chain around the witch's loosely-curled hand a few times, he started to turn the dial as fast as his fingers would let him.

* * *

Hermione awoke in a bit of a daze. She was aware of light streaming into the room through the window . . . aware of her head pounding and her body aching from sleeping at the desk. Aware of a faint metal-on-metal rolling sound somewhere close by. And of Kreacher's face not far from hers—all while he seemed ready to fall asleep standing up—as he counted in a whisper.

Her first instinct was to pat at her neck as she sat up and screamed, "Harry!"

Her voice and the wrenching of her arm from beneath his turning fingers jarred the elf awake and he immediately scrambled backward. Had he counted enough? Yes, yes, he was . . . close, maybe . . . ?

As she searched to see if Kreacher had managed to slip the chain over her head as she slept, she felt the tangle of metal against her palm and the back of her hand.

Harry rushed into the room as she shook her hand to remove the chain.

He blinked, shouting for her as Hermione was ripped away from him. The Time Turner was gone, all that was left behind were her notes and the mess of books she'd used to do her research for him.

Him and his _stupid_ bloody loophole!

Harry was so angry his limbs trembled as he turned a seething glare on Kreacher. The elf was staring at the space where the witch had vanished. Master could punish him for _days_ and it would not bother him. He had done what he must.

"What did you _do_?!"

Kreacher's smile was so satisfied that it only infuriated Harry further. "Kreacher made Master safe."

* * *

Hermione fell out of the chair, clamping one hand over her mouth as she braced the other, still tangled in that damn chain, against the floor. The dizzying whirl of time around her had been so strong and chaotic, she thought she might heave out her entire stomach.

 _"Kreacher!"_

She heard a woman's voice bellow from somewhere on the floor below. OH, no. No. If the number of turns she'd heard Kreacher stop at was correct, that voice had to be . . . _Walburga Black?!_ Damn. She'd thumped down harder than she'd realized when the Time Turner stopped, hadn't she?

 _"What_ was _that noise?"_

Looking about, Hermione spied the open study window. Good Lord, she was two floors up! Groaning to herself as she heard Kreacher—that treacherous little _Oh!_ She didn't have words for him, right now!—garble something in response, she forced herself to her feet and hurried to the window.

She eased herself out onto the narrow ledge below. Clinging to the wall as best she could, she shimmied away from the open window and held her breath.

Just barely she could hear the sound of the door creaking open. Luckily, she'd not knocked anything over when she'd fallen from the chair, so nothing appeared to have been disturbed.

She overheard the elf muttering about ghosts as he went right back out to report his findings—or lack thereof—to his mistress.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Hermione looked about. All right. The turning of the leaves in half-bare trees told her it was autumn. Okay. The calculations had been off a bit—or at least Kreacher's turning had—as it was the wrong season, so clearly not eighteen exact years. Was this even 1980? She had to get somewhere that could tell her when she'd ended up.

She could have the nervous breakdown about being flung across time that she so _richly_ deserved once she had her bearings.

Swallowing hard, she peeked down. Luckily, there didn't seem many people about right now. No one to report what probably looked like an attempted break in just then. She also supposed it was lucky she was dressed in non-descript blue jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing to make her stick out like a sore thumb.

The ground wasn't far . . . if she could turn around and slip down.

Wincing, she stuck her back hard against the wall and eased herself downward , resting her fingers against the ledge. Her breathing shallow and her extremities tingling with nervous energy, she gripped the stone lip as best she could as she turned . . . .

And tumbled right off the side of the building, landing hard on her back in the grass below.

Jarred and having the wind knocked out of her, she painfully pulled herself to sit up. She'd instinctively curled her arms inward, so the ruddy Time Turner, and her little bag, had been shielded from the fall. That was good, she was pretty sure she'd stuck her wand in her bag somewhere. She barely ever took it off, now. One of the many lessons the War had taught her.

She didn't expect the spectacular soreness in her back would subside any time soon. Climbing to her feet—perhaps falling was going to be a theme for today—she limped her way out onto the sidewalk.

Pausing to brush herself off and self-assess for injuries only when she was far enough away from the Black house to not seem suspicious, she looked about again. Okay. She knew businesses might've changed hands by the time she'd become familiar with this particular neighborhood years from now, but she recalled the general direction of some shopfronts.

Hermione tried to sort her situation as best she could while she walked . . . _painfully_. Once she found out her actual timeframe, she could start researching on how to undo this. Because there had to be a way to undo this. Reversing time magic was probably going to be one hell of a headache for her, but there _had_ to be something in Flourish and Blotts, or perhaps Tomes and Scrolls in Hogsmeade. Yes, she knew where she was, and she knew she could easily Apparate to either location, but she still felt woozy from her abrupt time-travel, and off kilter at having no idea even what day it was, let alone year.

Spotting a newsstand, she hurried over, inwardly screaming over the myriad aches that shot through her body at her rushed movements.

Offering a quick grin to the old man seated behind the tiny counter, she leaned over to glance at the nearest paper. That grin slid right off her face.

 _31st, October, 1981_

She backpedaled a step, feeling her heart lodge in her throat. _No, no, no._ She had to get away—she had to get back! This was the day that . . . . If she stayed, she'd be tempted to _do_ something, she just knew she would!

To stop Peter from revealing the Potters' location to Voldemort, or warn the Potters their safehouse had been compromised . . . . Things that seemed right, that she _knew_ were right, but that would change the future.

The very thing she knew she couldn't do!

"Tomes and Scrolls," she said in a whisper as she forced herself to breathe, trying to reason her way out of the situation. "Wider selection than Flourish and Blotts . . . okay."

Ducking behind the newsstand, she withdrew her wand and hid away the Time Turner inside one of her pockets. Assuring herself no one would see, she Apparated.

. . . . Only to pop into existence right between two very familiar faces she'd not seen in what felt like far too long. Only, they were younger than when she last saw them, and, well, _alive_.

The men both appeared quiet startled, and she had the sense she'd just interrupted some _deeply_ private conversation.

Sooner than she could stop herself, however, their names popped out of her mouth. "Sirius! Remus!"

They exchanged a glance over her head before each turning questioning looks on her. "Do we know you?" The achingly familiar voice of Sirius Black seemed to ring in her ears.

Wide-eyed at her moment of thoughtlessness, Hermione tucked her wand into her belt and started backpedaling, both hands outstretched. "No, no. Um, sorry, I'm so . . . . Just . . . sorry."

As she turned on her heel and started away from them, the pair shared another look. Not at all liking that some mystery woman seemed to know them, they took off after her.

Hearing the footfalls behind her, Hermione picked up her pace.

"Miss? _Wait!_ "

She desperately wanted to stop. To turn back and get just one more glimpse of them. When they were young. When the world had not yet fallen apart on them. But she couldn't. She might be thoughtless again and do or say something she shouldn't.

For all she knew, simply interrupting their discussion a moment ago might've already been the proverbial butterfly under her boot. Once more, she picked up her pace.

But the faster she ran, the faster _they_ ran—and both being taller than her, the effort was definitely worse for her, especially given how battered she already was from her ordeal.

Before she knew it, she was stumbling down some random village side street. As she rounded the side of some little, rundown looking cottage, she glimpsed a sight that had her all but falling over her own two feet in an effort to stop.

In her shock, she didn't really feel the collision as the two men bumped into her, she heard the soft sounds of their midsections hitting her bruised back and shoulders.

"What the bloody hell?" Sirius said in a whisper that was barely a breath of sound.

She could tell Remus was frowning, that he was shaking his head in confusion as he spoke. "This . . . this can't be."

They were staring at the meeting where _it_ had happened. The clandestine moment . . . . She stood here with Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, watching as Peter Pettigrew knelt before someone who could _only_ be the Dark Lord. Watching as Peter's mouth moved to form hushed statements.

"Go get word to Lily and James," Sirus' voice drifted in the air around her as he drew his wand.

Remus sounded in utter disbelief, despite drawing his own wand. "But—"

Sirius spoke through clenched teeth. " _He's_ their Secret Keeper. They need to move, now, in case this _is_ what it looks like."

Hermione had no idea what to say or do as she watched Sirius advance on the private meeting while Remus took off in the opposite direction to get a message to the Potters. There were shouts . . . the words made no sense to her ears. There was groveling—well, that'd have to be Peter, wouldn't it?—and there was a stilted moment. Voldemort Disapparated, but not before he looked past the advancing wizard.

Not before his gaze—set into a face that was _not_ the snaky, repulsive creature she recalled—landed on her.

She watched as Sirius cornered Peter, able to overhear Sirius' demands to know what he'd stumbled across.

Feeling her legs go out from under her, Hermione crumbled to the ground. Giving herself a shake, she thought she could actually _feel_ the sensation of a butterfly crunching beneath her.


	2. Hermione 'Dagworth'

Wow. Thank you so much! I was not expecting such a warm reception for this fic (and, actually, as I've not read any Time Turner fics before, I certainly wasn't expecting to find out that having Hermione expose Peter's betrayal was a new take on the whole thing, so, I guess yay Freya's brain? XD).

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

Hermione _Dagworth_

Sirius dragged a petrified Peter along by one arm, the traitor's wand shoved into his belt. For good measure, he'd slapped him with a charm to prevent him from slipping into his Animagus form . . . at least until _after_ he was turned over to the Order. At that point, no trick up his sleeve would matter.

As he crossed to the spot where he'd left the mystery woman who'd led them here, he found her gone. Looking up, he managed to catch Remus' bewildered gaze as the werewolf returned at a jog.

"Where'd she go?"

"No idea," Sirius said while he continued walking along, as though he wasn't dragging a man on the ground behind him. "But let's get him squared away and then track her down."

Wincing, Remus glanced around. "She seemed fairly disturbed by the entire situation. Maybe we should just—"

"She knew us, Moony! Girl we've never laid eyes on in our bloody lives _knew_ us. And the way she acted when we saw Peter with You Know Who? She knew we were all stumbling into a meeting _no one_ was meant to witness." Sirius shrugged. "Best we find out if that means trouble sooner rather than later."

Remus flicked his wand at Peter's still form, levitating him, instead. Sirius glowered at the gentler treatment, much preferring if they delivered him to the Order bumped and bruised. They were all going to be stinging over this betrayal for a while, letting him get a little banged up might alleviate some of that.

"Well?" he asked, with a shake of his head.

Hiding a grin at the dark-haired man's irritation, Remus nodded, though he couldn't say he didn't share Sirius' feelings on this. With another flick of his wand, he compromised their prisoner's hearing, so the words that met Peter's ears were perceived as garbled and unintelligible. "Managed to make contact with James. He took Lily and Harry to . . . some Muggle place or another. They'll hide out there until one of _us_ tells them otherwise."

Sirius was beyond relieved, but it was a strange, wary sort of relief. If they hadn't chased that strange girl, they would never have known of Peter's treachery. He had a most unsettled feeling that she had actually been afraid of them.

Despite the current lull in activity, war was still raging. _Definitely_ best to track her down and find out what was going on.

* * *

Hermione wished it were as simple as using the Time Turner to undo her Apparition and simply pop up somewhere else—any-bloody-where else—but she'd just changed _time_! She didn't even know if the artifact that had allowed that to happen would work the same because of that, and she was not about to experiment and risk cocking things up worse than they already were.

She hobbled her way across the threshold of The Three Broomsticks and went straight to the bar, bracing herself against it as she dragged in a breath. One wouldn't know the war was still on—a war that had just been prolonged by _her_ interference—but then Halloween _was_ widely celebrated by Wizarding Britain, perhaps it made sense that there was a temporary peace. The place was lively with festivities for the holiday, and Hermione hoped that only went as far as drinking, possible barfights, and other other forms of merriment that didn't mean there'd be no vacancies. She was in no mood to drag her weary body across the village to the Hogshead, just now.

And thank God wizarding currency had never changed, so the emergency stash she kept in her little bag was _more_ than enough to get herself a room for a few nights . . . perhaps a few changes of clothes so she could blend with the populace of Hogsmeade. After having Voldemort's attention on her, as she'd stood there gaping at him in obvious Muggle attire, blending in with the locals seemed like something that ought to be high on her priority list.

Yes, okay. Room, rest—she really needed to recoup from the various traumas her body and mind had suffered in the last hour, alone—put some food in her stomach come morning, and then she could be on her way to Gladrags Wizardwear, and after being appropriately attired, head over to Tomes and Scrolls, though she wasn't entirely certain what, if any, viable information she might find, given that she was dealing with such an unheard of circumstance.

Could one undo potentially obliterating an entire timeline? Or had she accidentally created some alternate reality?

She had no idea! Worse, in her state of shocked exhaustion, the whirl of thoughts—which she could normally handle with aplomb in even the most dire of situations—was making her head spin. But at least she had a plan, now. However small that plan might be, it was a start. Though good _Lord_ , it sounded like a lot right now. Just thinking on her to-do list sapped a bit of what little energy she had left.

Once she was collected, she turned as calm a gaze as she could on a very young Madam Rosmerta. It was easy to see why so many wizards young and old, alike, fancied the former—well, technically _current_ —barmaid. The Madam Rosmerta Hermione remembered was stunning for her age, and the literal turning back of the clock had only proved that she'd always been quite eye-catching.

The blonde witch smiled, though Hermione could tell she was a bit uneasy at seeing an unfamiliar face before her. "May I help you, Miss?"

"Um, yes, sorry. Um, how much for a room for the night, and how far in advance can I pay for consecutive nights?"

"Two Galleons, one Sickle for a night—three Galleons, even, if you'll be wanting meals." Rosmerta eyed Hermione as the brunette dug around in her little bag. "You can pay for as long a stay as you want whenever, s' long as you're paid up current at the time."

Having no idea how long she might be stuck here, Hermione thought perhaps three nights was a good start. Not wanting to show off just how large her emergency stash was, however, she carefully counted out the coins while her hand was still in the depths of the bag.

Extracting five, she plunked them down, followed by another five. "Three nights, with meals, and an extra Galleon for your kind assistance."

Rosmerta's brows shot up and her pretty lips puckered in thought as she nodded, counting out the payment and then pocketing the left over coin. She was quick to shove a ledger and a quill under the newcomer's hands.

Hermione was sure she signed as _Hermione Dagworth_ , a surname that came to her in a pinch, since Professor Slughorn's inquiry during Hogwarts about the possibility of her being related to Hector Dagworth-Granger was always somewhere, kicking about in a back corner of her mind. Now that she'd—bloody hell, she still couldn't believe it!—altered time, there was no guarantee her future self would ever meet _anyone_ she knew in the Wizarding world, but she still wasn't willing to risk that some day they might cross paths with young, properly-timelined Hermione Granger and let something slip about this mess.

Snatching the items back so fast, Hermione didn't get to cross her T, Rosmerta beamed. The swiftness of the movement struck Hermione as rude at first, but then she realized that the barmaid was simply eager—grateful to have a female boarder. It probably wasn't something that happened very often, and the lady was just as probably bloody damn tired of having her bum pinched by most every other male who stepped through the door.

"Right this way, Miss."

Knowing there was some respite in sight, Hermione felt a sudden need to will her legs into motion. Across the floor and up that damned staircase . . . through the corridor. Every step took a little more of that willpower, and she wasn't certain she had the energy to keep moving if that left her before they reached the room.

She could hear Madam Rosmerta's voice in her ears as they walked, talking about what was being served for tonight's dinner, Hermione thought? But she couldn't really focus. Not wanting to be rude, however, Hermione mumbled a soft sound of agreement.

Let into her room—was Rosmerta saying the meal would be brought up in two hours? Three? _Some?_ Oh, her brain was shutting down—Hermione muttered a thank you and offered a polite, if visibly tired, grin to the other witch and accepted the keys.

Later, Hermione would have no idea how she'd actually managed to drag herself to the bed. Never mind that she'd been so dazed, she didn't even recall peeling off her jeans, trainers, and bra, to crawl under the covers in nothing but her t-shirt and knickers once Rosmerta had closed the door.

* * *

After meeting with two of the Aurors in league with the Order and giving statements on what transpired, the pair once more found themselves out in the center of Hogsmeade as night started to fall. Now that things had settled down once more, Remus and Sirius were painfully aware of each other's presence. Aware of the strained and tense conversation that had been left hanging in the air when that girl had appeared smack between them.

The night, itself, was strangely buoyant, perhaps it was everyone simply loving the unspoken ceasefire and the excuse of All Hallows Eve to get pissed in public. Perhaps it was the distant sounds of music and drunken singing winding through the streets of the village.

Whatever the case, Sirius wished he could say it took the edge off his apprehension. Yet, as he turned to look up at Remus—bastard was over ten centimeters taller than he was, after all—Sirius narrowed his eyes.

Those leaf-green eyes narrowed right back at him in question. "What?"

Dropping his gaze to the ground, Sirius shook his head. "Um." He pursed his lips for a moment, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. "Listen, about . . . about what I was trying to tell you earlier . . . ."

Remus did his level-best not to smirk at the very _un_ -Sirius apprehension in his friend's tone and behavior. "Yes?"

There was something in Remus' voice. He sounded a bit too . . . eager to hear what Sirius had to say. A bit too . . . .

His eyes narrowing further, still, Sirius snapped his attention up to look at the other man, once more. After searching Remus' always-too-bloody-calm features for a few heartbeats, Sirius scowled.

"Oh, sod it! Let's just go find the girl, something about her tells me either she's in danger or we are."

Sirius started stomping off, but Remus reached out, grabbing him by the elbow. As he was spun back, the dark-haired man was already letting out a hushed string of four-letter words.

Words that were cut off as he found Remus' mouth on his.

Though he moved into it willingly, nibbling and nipping at Remus' tongue and his bottom lip, Sirius seemed almost angry as he broke the kiss. Almost angry as he blinked up at his friend in something like confusion.

His breathing shuddering a bit, he asked in a hushed tumble of sound, "What the hell was that?"

Remus' brows pinched together, though he didn't buy Sirius' bravado. "Wasn't that what you wanted to talk about?"

Again, Sirius scowled, even as he said, "Well, yeah . . . ." Turning on his heel, he started off, again. "Wanted to be the one to make the first damn move, wanker."

Understanding, now, Remus snickered as he caught up, falling into step beside Sirius. "So now we're going to look for that girl?"

Sirius nodded. Though, he stopped short, then, making sure his shoulder bumped the other man, forcing Remus to halt, as well.

Tilting his head, he caught Remus' gaze in a sidelong look. "And after we get that sorted, you and I will be revisiting that _talk_."

Remus folded his lips inward to hide a grin, but just as fast followed the facial expression up with, "He says that like he expects an argument."

Sirius sighed and started walking once more. "Why do you do that? _Who_ are you even talking to?"

"Anyone who'll listen better than you do, for starters."

Sirius barked out an obviously feigned laugh at that.

Remus looked about as he thought back on the girl. The way she'd carried herself, how she'd moved as she'd run from them . . . .

He recognized that sort of movement. Not at all dissimilar to himself the morning after a transformation.

"I know where we should look."

Sirius glanced back at Remus over his shoulder. "Got a hunch?"

Nodding, the werewolf said, "She's hurt, maybe bad. But her trying to get away doesn't suggest a hospital. She'll be needing to rest, though. So—"

"We check the inns."

With another nod, Remus echoed Sirius. "We check the inns."


	3. Safety

**Chapter Three**

Safety

"Rosie!"

The blonde witch didn't even have to look up, rolling her eyes at Sirius Black's boisterous tone. He only sounded like that when he wanted something.

Turning to face him—and poor Remus Lupin standing at his shoulder, sweet Remus who seemed a saint for managing the patience to put up with Sirius' drama and antics—she arched a brow. "Wha's it you want, Black?"

Sirius feigned a gasp—drama, check—and shook his head, his expression wounded. "Such accusation. And here I thought we were friends."

Remus uttered a resigned, breathy snicker, dropping his gaze to the floor as he shook his head. "Think she's been on to you since before we even walked in, mate."

"Fine." Sirius gave an eye-roll of his own. "We're looking for a girl—"

"Oh, so the rumors about you two _aren't_ true, then?" she asked with a smirk.

The pair of wizards exchanged a glance. Had everyone known before now except for them, or had someone seen that kiss, and word had traveled faster than they'd thought it might?

A wicked half-grin curving his lips, Sirius spread his hands. "I'm just an equal-opportunity hedonist, love."

Despite letting out a surprised chuckle at the professed hedonist's words, Remus stepped past him to lean his elbows on the bar. Clasping his long-fingered hands before him, he met Rosmerta's friendly-but-guarded gaze with an imploring look.

Sirius almost hated that her change in demeanor was not only immediate, but obvious. Remus' puppy-eyes—and yes, the irony of a _werewolf_ possessing such an innocent and soulful trait was not lost on him—always saved the day when Sirius Black's infamous flirtatious overtures failed. Perhaps he should stop being so overt, he considered, if his targets saw his attempts coming . . . .

Nah. _Not_ being over the top didn't sound fun at all.

Once he was certain he had her undivided attention, Remus dropped his voice just low enough that she would hear him over the din, yet that his words were not likely to be overheard by anyone else. "Rosie, please. This could be very important. The girl we're looking for . . . she could be in danger. Did _any_ young woman you don't know rent a room here in the last hour?"

"Wha' sort of danger?"

Remus remained silent, only lifting his brows in an eloquent expression.

Rosmerta fidgeted in place. Her gaze snapping from Remus to Sirius—who had dropped his usual act to give her an earnest look, and if Sirius was being, well, _serious,_ about anything—and back, she sighed.

Dropping her attention to the glass she was cleaning, the barmaid shrugged. "I suppose you boys could check the ledger. There's a . . . _chance_ the last person to check in is the one you're looking for."

Smiling gratefully, Remus reached for the book. Sirius looked past him to the witch behind the counter. "I could kiss you."

She didn't even bat an eye. "Keep your distance if you don't want to part with your bits, hedonist."

* * *

Hermione was so deeply asleep she wasn't aware of the two people hovering over her until the squeak of a floorboard cut into whatever tangled mess of sounds and images she might've been dreaming. Her combat instincts kicked in even before she'd fully awoken.

Snatching her wand from under her pillow—bloody hell, when had she even put that there?—she scrambled backward out of the bed, hitting the floor on her side with her weapon trained on them as her eyes opened.

Her very bewildered gaze jumped back and forth between the wizards as she clearly tried to process what was happening. That they obviously restrained themselves from drawing their wands on her, in turn—they did have her outnumbered, after all—spoke volumes about their intentions. Seeing their faces, so unweathered by the years and troubles that she knew weighed on them when she'd first met them twelve years from now, brought the day's events thus far tumbling back to her.

Seeing their hands in the air, that they were making no attempt to move toward her while she was so visibly spooked, reminded her that if there were any two people who _wouldn't_ harm a frightened woman . . . .

Though, if she were thinking clearly, she'd find it odd to think of herself as a woman in context to Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, given that she'd been only a child for a large portion of her friendships with them.

She lowered her wand slowly. The adrenaline seemed to wash out of her system in a blink the moment she realized she wan't being threatened and the pain from her injuries screamed through her body, though it was nothing compared to the pain of realizing that she shouldn't have this chance to look on them, not when she'd had to suffer their deaths.

Wincing, Hermione dropped her head as an awful tremor shook her limbs, a pained gasp tearing out of her.

Without a word, Remus hurried around the bed. Carefully lowering himself beside her, he held up his hands, once more. "Where are you hurt?"

 _My head? My heart? My very bleedin' soul?_ "My back, mostly," she managed in a shaky whisper.

"May I?"

In too much agony to care about her state of undress—and, really, with how little she was wearing, they'd probably already caught an eyeful during her spectacular tumble from the bed—she nodded. God, she'd kill for an aspirin right now.

"I left the door unlocked, didn't I?" she asked, closing her eyes as she felt the fabric of her t-shirt lift away from her skin.

"Didn't even need to charm it open," Sirius offered with a nod of his own. "Seems a strange slip for someone who was so eager to run and hide."

"I wasn't thinking clearly at the time." It wasn't an easy admission, but she already knew that was probably the simplest answer she'd have for them. "Rosmerta. She told you where to find me?"

Remus' brows arched upward at her tone—if he didn't know any better, he'd think this Hermione Dagworth, if the name in the ledger was her real name, even, was fixing to give Rosmerta a good, old fashioned arse-kicking. "Not exactly. She thought you might be in danger. Sirius? This isn't good."

Hermione tried hard not to roll her eyes at the sudden scrutiny as Sirius crossed the room to look at her exposed back, as well. What a day to wear thong. To their credit, neither wizard mentioned her knickers.

"Oh, that's . . . yes, very not good," Sirius managed, his handsome features twisted in a grimace at the spectacular array of bruises. "What the bloody hell happened to you?"

 _How much time have you got?_ she thought. Of course, all the time in the world wouldn't help, since she couldn't exactly be honest with them. "I sort of fell out of a second story window."

The men shared a cringing glance at that. "Dear God, woman!"

Sirius frowned, despite feeling sympathy for the pain she must be in. "Look, it's obvious you've been through _some_ shit today, but we didn't come to chat or play nursemaid."

"I know, I know," she said, even as she pointed at her little bag on the night table. "Please, there's some healing salves in there. Well, somewhere."

Picking up the tiny bag, Sirius opened it, peering inside as he talked. "What d' you mean, some . . . ? _Oh_."

Hermione put her head down, bracing already for the pain that would accompany Remus working the salve into her bruised skin. She missed Sirius pulling this and that out of her bag—things that had nothing to do with his search—before he found the salve and tossed it to Remus.

As Remus started the application as delicately as he could, Sirius kept on rummaging. Books . . . quills . . . another set of trainers . . . undergarments . . . . He frowned thoughtfully as he pulled something out for closer inspection.

Glancing up, Remus caught Sirius examining a shiny, pale-pink bra he'd clearly just taken from the bag. Catching Sirius' gaze, the werewolf mouthed the words _Stop that!_

The witch started talking to distract herself from the pain and awkwardness of the moment. "You want to know how I know you, right?" she asked, her abrupt question causing Sirius to fumble as he hurried to stuff the satiny item back into the bag.

"Yes." Remus glared at Sirius as the dark-haired man set down the bag and tried for a look of perfect innocence that failed miserably. "You already know who we are, what of you? _Is_ your name Hermione Dagworth?"

This, at least, she thought with some measure of relief, she could answer honestly. "Hermione, yes. Dagworth, no. It's just a surname I supplied for my own protection."

"All right, Hermione." Sirius had no way of knowing that she recognized his scolding tone, that she was already bracing for a lecture even as the pain in her back was starting to ease. "We still need an answer. How is it you know us? You a diviner, or something?"

 _Oh, Lord, that's it! I hate it, but that's it!_ Sirius had just supplied her with a perfect way to tell them what she knew without revealing anything about the Time Turner! And she'd only have to fib a little bit!

"Sort of," she said, glad they couldn't see her face just now. She had a feeling that if she had to look at them as she spoke, they would know immediately that she was only telling partial truths. "It's not something that normally happens to me, but I've seen you. Both of you. And I saw what would've happened if you hadn't caught Peter in time. You did stop him, yeah? You got your friends safe?"

Maybe there was a chance she hadn't completely destroyed—

"Yes." Sirius' simple answer confirmed that she _had_ single-handedly subverted the timeline from which she'd come. Wasn't _that_ just fantastic? "What else have you seen?"

"Nothing. I only know the chain of events that would've happened if you hadn't stopped him, I shouldn't say anything more on that, now should I?"

"Is that why you need protection? Because of what you've seen?"

She shrugged, biting her lip. Now that the pain had subsided, but Remus was continuing to work her skin beneath his hands, she wasn't sure she could speak without uttering some _wildly_ inappropriate sound.

"I'm okay, now," she forced out in a whisper.

Remus gave himself a shake and sat back, pulling her shirt down into place. "Right" He cleared his throat and nodded. "Sorry."

Sirius turned a scowl on the other man. Really? He was standing _right_ here! Not that he could blame him for taking the opportunity to paw at her, but still . . . .

Hermione eased herself to sit up, moving gingerly. Though she opened her eyes, she looked toward the window instead of at either of them. It was dark out, now. She probably hadn't slept very long at all before they'd tracked her down.

"I'm a Muggleborn," she said with a shrug. "Normally, that wouldn't mean much, as V . . . ." She reminded herself she could not openly say that name, not in this time. "As You Know Who is pretty much gunning for all of us, anyway, but . . . . He saw me. He knows I had something to do with him _not_ catching your friends. So, yeah, kinda feeling a need to cover my arse. He can't find me. The things I've seen about him, that I _know_ about him from what I've witnessed . . . ."

Even as she spoke, however, the reality of her situation started to sink in. She might not be able to return home, and even if she managed, it would not be the 'home' she remembered. She tried . . . picturing a world where the First War raged on beyond this night, yet the Second had probably never occurred. She tried picturing Harry's face without his trademark scar.

She'd not realized just how symbolic Harry's lighting bolt scar had become for her. Imaging him without it brought everything crashing down on her shoulders.

Before she knew it, before she could really stop it from happening, she was sobbing. Dragging in great, shivering gulps of air, she shook her head, trying to get the words out so they might at least understand her sudden breakdown.

"It's all gone! Ev-everything! My whole world is _gone_." Sniffling, she shook her head. "I keep blaming myself, but I did not send myself here! I didn't—I _didn't_!"

Sirius met Remus' concerned gaze over the top of the hysterical witch's head. Frowning, he lowered himself to sit on his knees in front of her. She seemed . . . heartbroken. Scared. Troubled by the things she'd seen. And on top of all that, she was _alone_. The War had certainly done a number on her.

Rolling his eyes, he shifted closer. Sirius slid his arms around her and guided her head to his shoulder. "Okay, then," he said when she responded by wrapping her arms around him in a suffocating hug—little thing was much stronger than she appeared—as she carried on in muted sobs.

Remus watched her, his attention tracing over her as she cried in Sirius' arms. The way she'd forced herself to function as injured as she was, how she'd snapped directly to an offensive posture the moment she'd become aware of them, despite her half-conscious state . . . . This was not just any witch.

This was a _fighter_. Dare he think it, a soldier.

And what she was suffering . . . this was more than a loss of loved ones. More than a fear of You Know Who. Something _terrible_ had befallen her, something that had her grasping at anything to cope.

Swallowing hard, he looked away. If she was right, if she'd seen things that were supposed to have happened, if she knew things, if the Dark Lord _did_ see her as responsible for him missing the chance to end little Harry's life . . . .

Exhaling slow, he lifted his gaze to the pair before him, once more. He was a bit startled to find the other man already looking him in the eyes. Sirius' expression read clearly that he'd made the same realizations about the mysterious witch.

"I know," Sirius said to Remus with a nod before he slid his hands over Hermione's shoulders and pulled her back enough to peer into her face. Her red, runny, sobbing mess of a face. "Hey? Hey! It'll be okay. You're going to come with us, yeah?"

"What?" she asked, turning her head, she glanced at Remus before regarding Sirius once more.

"It's going to be all right," the dark-haired man insisted. "We'll keep you safe."

She dragged in a few quick, hiccuping breaths as she stared into his eyes. "Safe," she echoed, the word tumbling out in a fragile, barely audible whisper.

Dropping her arms from Sirius, she lifted one hand to wipe at her cheeks. She nearly jumped out of her skin as Remus clasped her free hand in his own.

Shifting in place, she looked to his fingers wrapped around hers. God, her hands seemed _so_ small in comparison.

"It's okay if you don't want to come with us," the werewolf said, aware of the danger he, himself, posed, simply being what he was, but she needed help, and it was painfully obvious this woman literally had _no one._ "But Sirius is right, we'll do our best to keep you safe."

Remus wouldn't say it, but he was also uneasy at their offer. Not because of anything to do with her, but because he wasn't so certain they were what anyone would think of as _safe_.


	4. Not Lacking For Issues

**Short chapter, my apologies. Please remember, per the book series original canon, Time Turners are _NOT_ widely known about artifacts.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Not Lacking for Issues

Sirius frowned as he watched the girl on the bed shifting in her sleep. She was muttering something under her breath . . . it sounded like Arithmancy equations. Who the bloody hell thought that complexly in their sleep?

But then he glanced over at the werewolf stationed by the room's lone window. _Oh_.

"You don't think it's odd?"

Remus frowned, keeping a steady eye out for any suspicious characters—not an easy task on Halloween night. It wasn't as though he expected You Know Who, himself, to come looking for her, but that didn't mean he wouldn't send one of his awful followers to find clues about the mystery woman who'd been at the very-visible center of his plan being foiled.

"There isn't a single thing about this situation that's _not_ odd, Sirius. You'll need to be a tad more specific."

Rolling his eyes, Sirius slapped his palm against his forehead. "This. Her, dead-asleep like that with two strange men in the same room. After the way she'd conducted herself, don't you find there to be a . . . a troubling _lack_ of mistrust, there?"

With a shrug, Remus only glanced over at the witch in question before returning his attention to the street below. "She suffered multiple traumas and had a breakdown—not to mention being rather unceremoniously yanked out of sleep by the two of us. Think that affords her the right to succumb to exhaustion, Pads."

The dark-haired man scowled. "I suppose . . . and don't call me Pads, you only call me that when you're being patronizing."

Snorting a chuckle, Remus shook his head. "You only _think_ I'm being patronizing when I call you that."

"Uh-huh." His expression uncharacteristically stern, Sirius asked, "If not being patronizing, why do you call me that, then?"

A smirk curving his lips, Remus turned his head in the other wizard's direction, just long enough for his gaze to sweep down Sirius' form in a quick once-over. "Because it's _cute_."

Sirius took a moment with that answer. Nodding, he shrugged and held up his hands. "Well, then, far be it from me to stop you."

Again, Remus chuckled, only to once more shake his head. "But you're overlooking something. In . . . in regard to her, I mean, and any sort of seeming trust."

Pinching between his brows with two fingers as he winced, Sirius heaved a sigh. Merlin's fucking beard, it had been a long day. "Enlighten me."

"She's seen things, yeah? She said, herself, she knew us because of that, saw what would've happened if we hadn't caught Peter when we did." Remus shrugged. "It stands to reason that whatever these divinations of hers have shown her, she probably saw something about us that told her we're trustworthy."

"I do believe you overestimate what other people think of me, Moony."

"Well, maybe she sees me as trustworthy, and puts stock in it that _I_ trust you. You know, like most people."

Just as Sirius conceded his Remus' point with a nod, a knock came at the door.

"Dinner, Miss." Rosmerta's voice rang through the aged wood.

Cracking a smirk, Sirius pointed in the direction of the blond witch. "And there'd be one of those 'most people,' now!"

Remus snickered and nodded toward the window. "You take watch, I'll handle Rosie."

"Oy, now," Sirius said with a head shake as they crossed paths. "Watch you don't get too much fun out of that, now."

Biting back a laugh, Remus gripped the doorknob. "You really need to be stopped."

Opening the door, the werewolf greeted the barmaid with a warm smile. "Rosie."

She noted his subdued tone and arched her brow. "Normally I'd've let one of the other girls bring this up, but I wanted to check on Miss Dagworth, myself, since I didn't see either of you rascals come back down after I gave you her room number."

Looking over from where he stood now at the window, Sirius uttered a scoffing sound and stroked the tips of his fingers over his sternum. "Ouch. You know, your cynicism actually hurts."

Narrowing her eyes at his comment, she shrugged and shouldered her way past Remus with the dinner tray in her hands. "I'll check for myself, thanks."

Both men rolled their eyes at her presumptive measure, but there was little to be done for it without appearing suspicious to her. And there was nothing for them to hide.

"As you can see, she's sleeping peacefully."

As if on cue, Hermione rolled over, mumbling something about the duration of gillyweed's effectiveness based on how much one has consumed. Rosmerta stopped short, arching a brow.

Carefully setting the tray down on the nightstand, the barmaid nodded. "Right, then, that's information I'm sure no one needed." Turning to face the wizards, she went on. "She's a good tipper and she's paid up for the next two nights. If—during that time—you two bring her any trouble, or you two bring any trouble to this establishment, I'll throw you both out that window on your arses."

Sirius opened his mouth to gripe about her attitude, but Remus cut him off. "Rosie, please. Like I said at the bar, we're only here because she's in danger. We just want to make sure she stays safe. _Promise_."

Her expression souring, Rosmerta seemed to consider his words, and his earnest tone, before she sighed. The stiffness of her guarded posture eased a bit and she nodded. "All right. You two keep me informed if she needs anything. And I . . . suppose I could bring you both up something t' eat, too."

Sirius' jaw fell slack, a marvelously affronted expression on his face as he watched the blond witch leave and shut the door behind her. "Honestly! How do you do that with her?"

Shrugging, Remus crossed to the bed. "Helps not to assume everyone will be won over by your charms."

For the second time, Sirius choked out a scoffing sound. "It's not an assumption. It just bothers her how charming she finds me."

"Dear God, you're incorrigible," Remus said with a laugh. Clearing his throat, he lowered himself beside the bed. His tone gentle, he tried, "Hermione? You should wake up and try to eat something."

That familiar whisper close to her, the voice so much less world-weary than the dozens of hushed discussions lodged in her memories, brought the events of the last few hours screaming through her mind. She awoke with a gasp, her eyes snapping wide open to lock on the werewolf's concerned face.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's okay, it's okay. You're safe, it's only me." For the second time that night, he thought over the irony of him, out of all possible people, telling anyone that they were safe with him.

Sitting up, she pressed one hand over her heart and the other to her forehead. Her eyes closing as she tried to calm her breathing, she said, "I'm sorry. I . . . I just forgot where I was."

He snickered, nodding in understanding. "I was saying you should probably try to eat. Rosie brought up some food for you. Keeping your strength up will help you heal."

"Of course." Opening her eyes, she lifted the covers and looked down at her bare legs. The sight reminded her that she'd had her earlier meltdown in front of them in nothing but a t-shirt and thong. "And I am suddenly very aware of my state of undress."

The wizards exchanged a glance at her announcement, their brows shooting upward and both of them trying to hide grins. She pretended not to notice that look.

She turned her attention to Sirius and waved her hand toward the jeans she'd apparently tossed across the room after peeling them off before she'd climbed into bed the first time. Honestly, she'd been in such a daze, she wouldn't be surprised to find her shoes in the bloody bathtub, or somewhere equally ridiculous.

"Could you hand me those, please?"

"Hmm?" The dark-haired man looked down. "Oh, right." Scooping them up, there was the soft sound of something metallic hitting the floor as he took a step. "Hmm? Sorry, I seem to have . . . ." Sirius' voice trailed off as he bent to pick up the circles of gold on their long chain.

"What's this?" he asked, shaking the tiny hourglass to watch the sand shivering behind the glass.

Her eyes shooting wide once more, Hermione's jaw fell. "No!"

" _I mark the hours, every one, Nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you, Are gauged by what you have to do_."

Remus was on his feet and crossing the room on his long-legged stride in a blink. "What?"

The witch felt her heart hammering against her rib cage as he snatched the artifact from his friend's hands to examine it carefully.

"This . . . this isn't supposed to exist. I've heard of these, but . . . I thought they were only a rumor."

The spark that lit Remus' leaf green eyes then was unlike anything Hermione'd ever seen from the Remus Lupin in her memories. At least unlike anything she'd ever seen directed at _her_. She'd never seen Remus angry with her before, and the very sight of it caused a lump in her throat.

"This is a Time Turner, isn't it?"

Sirius looked confused. "Wha's a Time Turner?"

As though the Animagus hadn't even spoken, Hermione kept her quickly welling eyes locked on Remus. "I . . . ."

" _Is it_?" he demanded, trying to keep a handle on his uncharacteristically flaring temper. He didn't like being deceived. Especially not today. Not after what just happened with Peter.

"Yes, but . . . ." She shook her head, feeling a tear break free to roll down her cheek. " _Please_ , I can explain."

Swallowing down his anger for a moment, his expression remained stern as he drew his wand, all the while Sirius looked on in bewilderment.

"Yes," Remus said in a seething whisper. "I'd think you'd better had."


	5. Promises, Promises

**Chapter Five**

Promises, Promises

"They're artifacts that move the user backward in time," she explained for Sirius' benefit, since Remus already appeared to have a good grasp on their function, even if he hadn't realized they _actually_ existed until now.

Remus nodded. "Is that how you knew us? How you knew Peter meeting with the Dark Lord was trouble?"

"Yes, but it's not what you're probably thinking, there's more. There's so much more. Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time," she said, her voice shaking. "It was the first thing I was told when I was . . . entrusted with a Time Turner years ago. So I _couldn't_ tell you the truth, not really, because I was scared that you'd turn me in if you knew. War's going on, I really couldn't blame you if you didn't want to get involved. There are other reasons, of course, but with what's happened so far, they don't really matter so much, now."

Neither Remus nor Sirius budged. Both wizards simply watched her, expectant—the werewolf visibly angry, the Animagus in a state of shock.

"I know after having been betrayed by a friend, the last thing you can deal with is anyone else deceiving you, and I'm sorry I did, but I didn't think I had a choice." She held up her hands and waved in Sirius' direction. "Could I at least get dressed, first?"

The dark-haired man only then seemed to realize that he still had her jeans. After a moment of staring at the article of clothing, he returned his gaze to hers. "No," he said, folding his arms across his chest and arching a brow. "I don't think so. Not until this is sorted."

Remus looked over his shoulder at Sirius, who only responded to the glance with a determined nod.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she whispered in a hissing breath. "The other things I told you _were_ true. Since I wasn't supposed to tell anyone about the Time Turner, when you asked if I was a diviner, it . . . it felt like the most serendipitous misunderstanding. I could tell you _that_ was how I came upon the things I know without dragging either of you any further into my mess."

"Are you in a mess because you work for You Know Who and ruined his plans?"

Well, she supposed she should've expected that question. If she were in their place, the idea of someone 'exposing' Peter's treachery to get into their good graces and win their confidence would seem logical, and worse, probable.

"I don't work for him, but I absolutely did ruin his plans. In fact, I suppose I don't really work for anyone. Look, _everything_ else I said was true. All that wasn't was how I know the things I do. I swear!"

Sirius' eyes were darting about the room, even as Remus appeared reluctant to believe a word she said. "So . . . when you said you know the chain of events that would've occurred if we hadn't caught Peter . . . you mean because you were there?"

"It's a bit trickier than that, but yes." She tried to avoid Remus' suspicious glare, her gaze skittering up to meet his and then dropping back down just as quick as she spoke. "I can only explain further if you both swear you won't breathe a word to anyone."

The werewolf set his jaw. "And why should—?"

"I know you've no reason to trust me, but I'm not asking for my own sake. I'm asking for _yours_."

"How do you know you can trust us at our word?"

Sniffling, she forced herself to meet his eyes steadily, then. "Because I know neither of you would _ever_ break your word. Well, literally not unless a life depended on it, I suppose."

The wizards exchanged a glance. She sounded so sure of her assumption. Of course, it was true, but the jarring part wasn't how true it was. It was how confident she was that it was true.

"All right. You have my word," Sirius offered with a shrug and a nod. "Whatever you tell us right now does not leave this room."

Remus uttered a small, unhappy sound that was nearly a growl. "Fine." He lowered his wand. "You have my word, as well, but know that if you lie to me again, I'll not be nearly so patient as I was just now."

Meaning . . . he'd draw his wand and not stop himself from lashing out. Exhaling a deep sigh, Hermione nodded. "I understand. You, um, you both might want to sit down for this."

When still neither of them moved, she shook her head. "Or remain standing, fine. Well, at least brace yourselves, okay? I am . . . I'm from a time that's been shaped by what would've happened if Peter had disclosed the Potters' location to You Know Who."

All show of toughness drained from both of their faces. "He did it, didn't he?" Sirius asked, the fear for his godson written across his features. "When you're from, he killed Harry."

Hearing the question, she let out a humorless laugh that was no more than a puff of air, tears gathering in her eyes. "No. No. In the time I'm from, Harry's alive, and well. Oh, you should see him! He's so alive! And he's married and he's going to be a dad, and . . . ."

Her voice trailed off, but not because of the looks of shock on their faces. But because she knew she'd never see her best friend Harry, again. The little boy Voldemort had lost the chance to go after was a different version of that same person, but it would never be _him_. She'd never get to see the baby to whom she was supposed to be godmother.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she struggled to let it out. When it escaped in a shuddering sigh, she said, "And I'll never get back there, now."

"How far in the future are you from?" Remus' voice was a barely audible whisper. If he wasn't the one having this conversation, he'd scarcely believe any of this was really happening.

"Um, it's 1981, right? Well, in this time, the me who's supposed to be in this world is . . . ." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "That me is two years old, and I believe, in France visiting with my mother's parents? Yes, I think that's what we were doing this particular autumn."

"I think I'd better sit down," Sirius said, the words tumbling from his lips in a numb tone was he backpedaled to take a seat in the armchair by the window.

Hermione flicked her gaze in his direction, but refrained from saying _I told you so_.

"Harry survived," Remus started, the look in his eyes telling her clearly that he knew he wouldn't like what he was going to hear. "Even though Peter succeeded. So, what happened?"

Sniffling, she gave herself a steadying shake and met his eyes, again. "Tonight was the night the War ended. It ended because You Know Who was destroyed in his attempt on Harry's life, but . . . but not before James and Lily gave their own lives to protect him."

Both wizards appeared at a total loss for what to say. Not that she blamed them, they had to be feeling a mix of fear, relief, and sadness, all at once. The mingled impressions of how happy they were things had not turned out that way, and how thunderstruck they were at would _could_ have come to pass were palpable in the air of the room.

"You, um, you remember I said there was more? Well . . . ." She shrugged, having to drop her gaze back to the floor. "You have to understand, I'm so happy that we interrupted that meeting. I'm happy you saved your friends . . . but the world I'm from was shaped by that loss. Now that it never happened . . . I don't even know if the world I'm from exists, anymore."

They each glared at her as though they were ready to reach for their wands. "Do you mean to go back and ensure that it _does_ happen, now?"

Her brow furrowed as she processed Remus' question. As she looked at the way he clutched the Time Turner in a grip so tight, she was surprised the tiny hourglass didn't shatter beneath his fingers.

"No. Given that they're not supposed to travel back more than a few hours, and here I am already gone back years, I can't say that trying to go back from this point would be safe. Besides, I don't think I have the heart to deliberately create an opportunity for Harry's parents to die. And for all I know, the Time Turner won't even work properly after this."

"That's what you meant, isn't it?" Still, Sirius' voice was numb. His blue-grey eyes had a dulled appearance now that his flaring of anger had faded as quickly as it had rolled in. "When you said your whole world is gone. You already knew you'd changed things?"

"Yes." She shrugged. "Harry . . . okay, during my time, You Know Who was thought to have died, Lily giving her life to protect Harry afforded him protection based in how pure an act of love it was. But he managed . . . . Well, the war that was supposed to have ended tonight? It became known as the _First_ Wizarding War."

Remus' eyes shot wide. "First?"

"There was a second . . . seventeen years from now. The Death Eaters reemerge, they covertly take over the Ministry, and You Know Who . . . . But that's not even important, anymore, since time has been altered. What _is_ important is that my time in the Second War, everything I went through, everything I did . . . . I learned things about You Know Who. Dangerous things. Secrets he'd kill his familiar to protect. But also, secrets that can help _end_ him."

Remus didn't bother searching for someplace to sit. Folding his long legs beneath him, he simply dropped to sit on the floor where he'd stood.

"I shouldn't say anymore, at least not yet. At this moment, it might only put you both in danger." There wasn't a doubt in her mind, Voldemort would do anything to stop the Order from learning about his Horcruxes. And while it might be wise to share that information, she couldn't so carelessly do something that would leave them in harm's way.

"You know us? In the future, you know us?"

She closed her eyes tight. Damn. She knew they were going to ask that. "Yes. You became our friends. You helped us fight." Uttering a sad laugh, she opened her eyes. "Remus, you taught Harry and me how to repel a Boggart."

"What else do you know about us, then?"

Snickering at Sirius' instantly so-interested tone—my, but he loved to hear about himself—Hermione couldn't help but meet his gaze. God, and she'd thought him dashing the way she remembered him. Young and vibrant like this, he was absolutely breathtaking.

"I know about the Marauders' map. The Weasleys' twin boys will grow up to be pranksters you would be proud of. They eventually nick the map from Filch and end up giving it to Harry."

"What does Harry grow up to be like?"

Remus' question pained her. She was happy they were willing to believe her, but still . . . if she couldn't get back to her own time, perhaps it was better she try to forget where she came from rather than rehashing everything. "He becomes a leader. He's . . . he's my best friend. He looks like James, but he has Lily's eyes. Everyone who knew them always says that to him. 'You have your mother's eyes.' He loves hearing it, even if he pretends he's sick of those words."

"And what of us? What becomes of us after the Second War?"

 _That_ particular question . . . . Forcing a gulp down her throat, she looked to each of them. Still fresh in her mind was the moment Sirius fell backward into the Arch. Fresh in her mind was the moment she saw Remus' body on the ground after the Battle of Hogwarts had ended.

She opened her mouth to answer, but not a sound would come, at first. Shaking her head, she tried again, aware how telling it was that her eyes welled with tears as she spoke. "Please don't ask me that."

Sirius' jaw fell open as Remus lowered his gaze. "I see," the werewolf said in a murmur. "Well, that's all been averted, now. So, to things we can do something about . . . ."

"Wait." Sirius shifted forward in the chair, propping his elbows on his knees. "If a Time Turner is only supposed to go back a few hours, how did you get back here?"

"There was a fight in the Department of Mysteries . . . actually, you were both there. Me, Harry, some Death Eaters, it was a wonder we all managed to get in there without alerting all of Wizarding Britain. Anyway, during that time there was an incident that set off all the Time Turners, knocking them into infinite time loops, so they essentially disappeared. All but _that_ one. Someone . . . someone put that Time Turner on me and deliberately abused it to send me away. Funny thing is, that didn't even have anything to do with the Second War, or You Know Who, that was long over, he was well and truly dead. Just someone who _really_ didn't like me."

"That's a lot of anger."

She only nodded in agreement with Sirius' observation. She'd always known Kreacher didn't like her, but to hurl her back in time like this was a level of discontent she'd never expected.

Remus spread his hands. "Look, if no one knows who you are, You Know Who will simply double any efforts to find you. Not knowing where _to_ look will mean he'll look everywhere. He may not know that you have secrets about him, but you crossed him, and that will be enough for him to want you dead."

"Yeah, I'm aware!" Sighing, she shook her head. "Look, I had a plan. In the morning, I was going to go the robes shop and buy some things to blend in with the locals, then I was going to try to find a way back to my time."

His features sharpened in a blink. "Blending in has to happen, obviously, you look like the poster-child for Muggleborns right now. But I'm afraid we can't let you try to go back."

As she realized his meaning, Hermione's entire frame slumped. Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard as she shook her head. "You mean because there's a chance that if I go back, that, alone, might undo what happened today."

Remus nodded.

Sirius gaped as he looked back and forth between the two of them. "That's really possible?"

The witch shrugged. "That's the thing, no one knows what is or isn't possible with something like this. Time magic is so inexact, so . . . largely experimental, that we can't really be sure of anything. My timeline probably still exists separate from the world that will unfold now in the wake of today's events. I mean, such things are theorized by Muggle scientists in the future. Every decision supposedly creates separate versions of the same reality, each where one choice was made over the other. Or it's when the choice made has an actual affect on the world? I . . . sorry, I studied magic over science, so that's as clear an understanding of it as you'll get from me."

Frowning, the dark-haired wizard shook his head. "I'd hate to sit through a lecture on the subjects you have a 'clear understanding' on."

She couldn't help but grin at that. She wondered if she should tell them that someday, they both refer to her as the brightest witch of her age?

"As I was saying," Remus began as he climbed to his feet. "Blending in is a must, yes, but it was easy enough for us to track you down. We need to get you out of here. Someplace he won't think to look for you."

Hermione nodded, laughing as Sirius finally— _finally_ —tossed her jeans to her. When she looked up at each of them, expectantly, the men exchanged a glance and shrugged.

"We've pretty much already seen everything," Remus offered with a wince.

"Unbelievable," she said under her breath.

Determinedly ignoring both of them, she threw back her covers and climbed out of bed. Shaking out her jeans, she spoke thoughtlessly as she pulled them on. "There's always the Shrieking Shack."

When she returned her attention to the wizards, they were gaping at her all over again.

"Hullo? I _know_ you?" After a moment of silence wrapping the room, their expressions only became more shocked. "Yes, yes," she said, her tone mildly exasperated. "You're a werewolf, you're an illegal Animagus who takes the form of a big black dog. _I know_. I'm a witch who fell backward in time through illegal use of a magical artifact. We've all got shit, okay?"

Remus and Sirius shared another quick look. "You . . . ." Remus shook his head, frowning in thought. "You've known I'm a werewolf all along, and you're not afraid of me?"

"O' course not! You may be a beast when you miss your wolfsbane potion on the full moon, but other than that, you wouldn't harm a fly unless it was threatening a love one. Only one werewolf worth being afraid of and that . . . . Oh, dear God. Fenrir Greyback's on the loose in this time!"

Remus' brows shot up, but he was once more at a loss for what to say. This was all an awful lot to process. That they all seemed to be handling the situation with _any_ level of aplomb was a miracle.

Sirius shook his finger at her. "Okay, if we're going to work together to protect you—and for you to eventually give us those secrets about You Know Who, which you're _going_ to do to help us win this war, yeah?—then you're going to need to stop that."

Sighing, Remus nodded. "It is getting a bit creepy."

"Fine. I'll stop being _creepy_. Anything off I say around anyone else, we'll just go with the diviner story. Good enough?" She couldn't argue Sirius' point, she absolutely was going to tell them whatever she could about Voldemort, as soon as she was sure it was a safe option.

"Yeah, that works. Okay, well, you're paid for the next two nights, yeah? We'll pack up the food and sneak you into the Shack." Remus was already handing Hermione her trainers. "Let Rosie keep the difference for herself. Maybe we can memory charm her and let her think some other patron left it for her?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. You Know Who is actually quite the fan of breaking memory charms through torture. It wouldn't be fair to subject her to that possibility. Let's just make her not telling anyone about me a condition of keeping the difference. If she's _forced_ to tell, I'd rather whoever does the forcing not feel they need to hurt her."

"Fair enough."

* * *

Though Rosie didn't seem especially thrilled to let the young woman go off with those two, she did trust Remus Lupin, despite her better judgement—there was just something about that one. Aware the girl was hiding from unsavory sorts, the blonde witch helped further by securing the food in neat containers for them, giving them a bit extra, and ushering them out the backway.

The trio was careful as they ducked through the streets of Hogsmeade, wary of revelers, in case any of them might be lurking Death Eaters. Oddly enough, there seemed a void of activity around the Shrieking Shack. Hermione thought perhaps that given the decaying property's reputation, no one wanted to be close by in case the thinning of the veil between worlds made the rumored 'violent hauntings' even more volatile.

As they sneaked along, at last making their way up the path to the house, she hissed out a string of hushed curses. Remus led the way, leaving the Animagus to walk behind her. And she realized . . . young, vibrant Sirius Black had absolutely _no_ concept of personal space.

Up onto the dilapidated porch, through the whiny-hinged front doors, and into a foyer that looked like the entryway to a haunted house exhibit, they were silent. Even once they were in a corridor that branched in different directions, to the staircase she remembered, off into a rundown kitchen, the parlor and attached dining room in another, Remus broke off to start up the stairs.

As she followed, it happened again, and she couldn't keep silent, anymore, even with as unnatural as talking felt in this quiet space. She halted at the foot of the steps.

"Sirius? Will you back up, _please_? So help me, if you step on the back of my heel _one_ more time—"

"Sorry, just making sure you don't stumble in the dark."

Dear God, it was like dealing with one of the Weasley twins! "Listen here, I don't very much appreciate any insinuation that I'm clumsy. Second of all—" She spun around to face him as she spoke, and immediately her words dropped off.

She'd expected he'd have backed up when she'd reprimanded him, yet as she turned, she found him right there. His face so close to hers, given that he was only a rough ten centimeters taller than her.

Hermione tipped her head back a little as their gazes held. Had she ever seen Sirius' face this close before? He really was achingly beautiful.

A smirk curved his lips, the light in his eyes pure mischief, even as he raised a gentle hand to cup her cheek. "So . . . should I guess that a younger version of you in the future is smitten with an older man?" He knew he shouldn't tempt fate like this, whatever was going on between him and Remus was definitely a thing he wanted to pursue, but there was just something about her . . . .

As handsome as he was, as intriguing, as much as she could absolutely imagine letting him snog her brains out right here and now, she found herself pushing to focus on his question. Concentrating on anything other than that delightful imagining was only made more difficult by the sensation of his breath on her lips. In the future, if she had to say her younger self had a fleeting moment of being smitten with _any_ older man . . . .

Returning his smirk, she leaned a bit closer. "Actually, I can think of someone I might've felt that way toward at one point." She dropped her voice to a murmur. "And he just went upstairs."

Sirius choked out a scoffing sound as she turned and started up the steps. " _Oh!_ You're a cruel one, aren't you?"

Hermione giggled in spite of herself as she heard Sirius fall into step behind her. She knew she shouldn't let herself develop any feelings of the sort for either of them, but being around them like this . . . . Being their age, sharing their experiences . . . .

She was going to _try_ not to let it happen, but she wasn't certain if her heart would be able to help itself.


	6. Trust So Fragile

**Chapter Six**

Trust So Fragile

"She really has done an amazing job on this," Remus, seated in a pleasantly-restored arm chair, marveled in a whisper as he looked about the master bedroom of the Shrieking Shack once more. Hermione, uncertain just how long she'd require the Shack as accommodations, had charmed the upper level—no different than a tent, really, she'd said, after wondering aloud why none of them had ever thought to do so—and then, after performing every cleaning charm she could think of on the furniture, had curled up on the too-large canopy bed that dominated the room and fallen fast asleep, still a bit wrung out from her ordeal.

Sirius chuckled as he continued his aimless wandering across the floor. "There is a reason they call it _a woman's touch_ , Moony."

"Fair point." The grin lighting Remus' features dimmed a bit, then. "Can I be honest about something?"

"I prefer it."

The werewolf cast his gaze toward the ceiling. For a few heartbeats he simply listened to the creaks and whines of the building, and then he nodded toward the sleeping witch. "She scares me a little."

His brows drawing upward, Sirius fixed his attention on her. Curled up in an almost kitten-like fashion in her slumber, she appeared the complete picture of peace. She was even making a little, half-whining, almost-snore sound. "Yes, she's terrifying."

Remus propped an elbow against his knee rested his chin in his palm. "No, you twit. I mean . . . she knows so much about us. We know barely a thing about her. I mean, yes, we know her name, we know her connection to us, we know how she got here, we know her circumstances. But we don't know _her_ , not the way she knows us, apparently."

"You don't trust her?"

Wincing, Remus shook his head. "That's just it, though. I do. Already, and that's madness on the face of it. Makes me wonder if I shouldn't trust myself for trusting a stranger so easily."

"If you're really unsettled about it, there's a simple solution."

"There is?" Remus arched a brow. Other than trying to use legilimency to peek into her head—which he wouldn't, even were he skilled enough in the discipline—he wasn't sure how to get more out of her than she'd already willingly opened up to them about.

"Sure, her bag's right there. Women keep everything in those."

"Sirius! Are you honestly suggesting we—?"

"Oh, no, no. Not 'we', _you_ , I'm fine with the woman. And I'm not _saying_ you should do it. But this is clearly bothering you, and that's an option. It's a stupid option, but it is one. It's that or, I dunno, maybe wait 'til she wakes up and actually _ask_ her anything more you want to know?"

Deadpan, Remus stared at Sirius. "Why that's positively revolutionary thinking there, Sirius. Of course I'm not planning on going through her things."

"Good. Because women don't like that shit."

"Is that why Lily gave you a smack at the Christmas party?"

"No, that's 'cause I let her surprise gift to James slip." His forehead smarted a bit just recalling the swat she'd given him. "And I'd really rather not reminisce about that particular incident, thanks very much."

Shaking his head, Remus chuckled.

Tipping his head to one side as he listened to his friend's laughter, Sirius' expression became uncharacteristically somber. "It's not just that, though, is it?"

Remus looked up to see the Animagus walking toward him. "What do you mean?"

Reaching him, Sirius cast a glance back over his shoulder at Hermione before lowering himself on his knees in front of Remus. He cupped the werewolf's jaw in his hands as he held those leaf-green eyes with his own. "It's because of what she _wouldn't_ say earlier, isn't it? Because in her memories, we—"

"Don't say it, Pads, please," Remus said, his lids drifting downward.

"I think what scares me more is that I believe her." Sirius' pale gaze searched the other wizard's. "But, because I believe her, I also believe that now, due to what happened today, the fate she remembers for us is no longer our future."

"It's always so easy for you to have faith in things."

Snickering, Sirius shook his head. "Nah, I just make it sound easy. I's kind of wha' I do."

Remus sighed. "Well, one thing's for certain. Whatever happens next, this is going to be an adventure."

Sirius' features pinched in a thoughtful expression. "Hmm. An adventure with you? I think I could handle that."

Remus was aware of Sirius leaning closer to him. He could feel the other man's breath ghosting over his skin. Leaning into him, he caught Sirius' lower lip between his teeth, nipping gently at the plump skin.

* * *

Hermione blinked her eyes open, holding back a sleepy, rumbling sound as she looked about. Yes, yes, the canopy bed, she recalled that. Turning her head against the pillow, she felt her brows shoot up her forehead.

Sirius knelt in front of Remus and from the way he was titling his head—hell, from the way of everything, the hushed sounds coming from the pair, the way Remus' face was half-hidden by Sirus', the sight of Remus' long, graceful fingers curling into the long hair at the nape of Sirius' neck—she could tell they were snogging. Very passionately snogging at that.

Oh, well. That . . . that certainly answered a few questions she'd always had about their 'close' friendship.

Feeling like an intruder, suddenly, she moved as quietly as she could, putting her back to the scene. Leave them to this private moment. Even if it did raise an entirely new question about something in their behavior toward her—Remus getting himself lost in rubbing that salve into her skin, Sirius with his flirtatious behavior when they'd arrived here a few hours ago.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to will sleep to overtake her once more as she puzzled over it. Was it really okay for her to have _feelings_ toward them? Even if not for the mess with her being stuck here. Was it really okay for her to feel her skin warm and her pulse race at the soft, murmured sounds drifting over from them?

Was it really okay for her to wonder if there could be room for her in either of their hearts as more than just a friend with some 'nifty' secrets about Voldemort?

Oh, dear, sweet Lord! She'd only tumbled into their lives—almost literally—a handful of hours ago. She barely knew them as they were now, why was she even worrying about any such thing? If she survived the war she'd found herself flung into long enough to use what she knew about Voldemort to help the Order kill him, _then_ she could worry over letting her heart and her imagination run away with each other.

This was all just a result of trying to accept that she was stuck here. She had no way back. Her mind was grasping at anything for comfort. Anything that was a more pleasing notion than never seeing her best friend, her parents, her damn cat, ever again.

She forced back a sob. Eventually that would hurt less. It would always hurt, she knew. The edge would come off and she would get past it, but she'd never truly get over it. People didn't get over something like this, not _really_. And it was only the same day. She had plenty of time to let the sharp newness of this pain run its course. Well, yeah, _if_ she survived.

For now, however, Hermione mushed her cheek tighter against her pillow, pretending she didn't know about the intimate moment going on at the other end of the room as she talked herself into letting sleep overtake her, once more.

* * *

Sirius broke the kiss, dropping his forehead down to rest lightly against Remus' scruffy chin as they caught their breath. "Well, that, um, that was actually rather rude of us," he murmured, laughing quietly.

"Rude of _you_ , you mean. You started it."

Despite that there was a clear edge of humor to Remus' tone, Sirius lifted his head, feigning a scowl. "Oy! Was that a complaint just now?"

Remus held up his hands. "No, no, just pointing out the _actual_ guilty party."

"I'm sorry, who was the one nibbling on my tongue, hmm?"

Letting out an airy snicker at that, Remus arched a brow. "Was that a complaint just now?" he echoed.

Sirius chuckled and it was a sound of pure, mirthful wickedness. "Not even remotely."

Ever the voice of reason, Remus sobered up. "I think it's time we get some sleep. The sooner we wake up, the sooner we get her to the robes shop, the sooner she'll blend in and we can breath a tiny bit easier."

"All right, then." Shooting to his feet, Sirius pivoted toward the bed and crossed the floor.

"Sirius, don't."

Sirius frowned at the other man as he sat gently on the edge of the bed. "Bloody hell, Moony, I'm just going to lay down. It's a big bed, I won't even touch her." Kicking off his boots, they hit the floor with a dull thunk.

Looking over at Hermione, he noted how much space there actually was between the two of them. He scooted toward the center and then waved Remus over. "C'mon, enough room for you, too."

Remus stood, strolling across the room at a lazy, ambling gait. "You just want to be in the middle."

Sirius laughed softly as Remus carefully removed his shoes and laid down beside him. "You just know me so well."

"I most certainly do."

Smiling, Sirius let his eyes drift closed. The sound of Hermione's quiet, shallow breaths—gone was that odd, too-cute snoring—on the other side of him had a lulling effect.

"What were you two talking about earlier, by the way?"

"Hmm?" Sirius could only half-focus on the question. It had been such a long day that he was already feeling sleepy just from his head hitting the pillow.

"When you were downstairs with her earlier." Remus frowned thoughtfully, his eyelids starting to droop. "I could hear you talking, but couldn't quite make out the words."

"Damn werewolf hearing," Sirius said, the words garbled by a yawn. "I'd asked her if there was any chance she had an infatuation with any inappropriately older men back in her proper time."

"I take it you had two specific 'inappropriately older men' in mind when you asked that."

"'Course I did!"

"And she knew who you meant?"

"She's sharper than _you_ , of course she did."

Remus smirked, curious in spite of himself. "And what'd she say?"

"Yes."

Turning his head, the werewolf flicked his gaze over Sirius' calm profile for a few heartbeats before he prompted, "And?"

Both enjoying Remus' interest in the matter, and finding himself just a tad jealous and annoyed by it, Sirius uttered a little fib. "She wouldn't say who."

* * *

Remus awoke sometime in the wee hours, the bedroom quiet and still a bit dark with the faintest lightening of early morning sunlight around him. He glanced over at the other occupants of the bed. Sirius was still dozing peacefully, and Hermione had shifted onto her back at some point, her head tipped over, resting against Sirius' shoulder.

She had no one but them. That thought was a bit terrifying to him, just as she was sort of terrifying to him. Settling back down, he let his gaze roam about the shadowed walls. She had no choice but to depend on them, but that brought him right back to the conversation he'd had—well, that he'd started—with Sirius in the middle of the night.

They didn't really know this woman. Not the way she knew them. They knew facts about her—her name, her story, her suffering. But she had known them as _people_. That could not be considered the same thing.

And then, in the wake of Peter betraying them all so grievously . . . . Remus wanted to have faith in his own trust in her. He believed she wasn't lying to them about anything, anymore, even if she had blatantly omitted what became of them in her time. And he wanted to believe her without question, but still that left a hollow feeling in his gut. Because he didn't enjoy being suspicious, yet that was what this war had made of them. Paranoid, suspicious people who second-guessed everything and everyone.

At some point in the course of his rambling thoughts, his gaze fell upon the little beaded bag she'd carried with her. It was on the night table, she'd inadvertently rolled away from it when she'd moved across the bed in her sleep.

 _Sure, her bag's right there. Women keep everything in there_.

Oh, he hated himself for what he was thinking, but after Peter, one of their _best_ friends in the world . . . . He couldn't let himself be okay with trusting anyone so readily. Couldn't risk it.

Swallowing hard, he sat up, once more looking at the pair still asleep. His attention on her face, he reached backward. Grasping the lightly-worn velvet pouch in his fingers, he slipped off the bed and retreated out into the corridor.

* * *

Hermione stirred, aware of a warm body very close to her own. Muttering a sleepy noise, she shifted closer to that warmth.

When a pair of arms circled her, pulling her nearer, still, she opened her eyes.

Sirius' slumbering face was so close to hers in the early morning light of the room that she could only stare at him. He was so young like this. The light and mischief she saw in that blue-grey gaze of his when he was awake, how very animated and sheerly alive he was . . . .

She couldn't help once more thinking that he was beautiful.

Then again, so was Remus. Not as drained, not broken by the events she'd just circumvented entirely by accident. Not nearly destroyed by the mistaken belief that his best friend—now, she knew, possibly his lover—had betrayed him.

Lifting her head a bit, she looked past Sirius. The other wizard was nowhere to be found.

Settling back down, she returned her attention to Sirius. Her heart hurt for how perfect his features were. Unable to help herself, she lifted her hand, delicately tracing his lower lip with the tip of one finger.

Though it startled her to realize his eyes had opened, she didn't move.

"What are you doing?" he asked, that mirthful flirtation edging his whispered voice.

A small, bashful smile playing on her lips, she shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just . . . ." She opted for honesty. "I just wanted to touch you."

"Mmm," he breathed the sound, nodding against the pillow. "I thought Remus was the one you fancied."

"Isn't he the one you fancy, too?"

Sirius let out a surprised snicker, his brows shooting upward. "You know about that?"

She watched the movement of her finger across his lip as she spoke. "I woke up and sort of . . . saw it a little . . . just for a moment, there."

"You watched us? Oh, you dirty woman, you!"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself at his feigned tone of scolding. "I opened my eyes, saw what was happening, and then turned over and went back to sleep to allow you two to have the moment to yourselves. For all I know, you two could've shagged in that chair after that."

Sirius' jaw fell at her candid statement.

She clamped her hand over her mouth, covering a giggle at her own words. "Oh, um, I didn't mean . . . . Um, I—I only meant . . . ." Oh, dear Lord. She could barely even think straight with his eyes so steady on hers as they were now.

He slid his hand around hers, pulling it gently from her face. Reaching out with the other, he mimicked her earlier action, tracing the pad of his thumb across her lower lip.

The witch had to remind herself to breathe as she watched his expression. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear for a moment they seemed fascinated with each other.

But they were not the only ones here, and the green eyes that flashed through her mind as she thought of the other man pulled at her heartstrings just as much as the gaze of the man before her.

"Maybe we should go see where Remus disappeared to."

Sirius' eyes narrowed and his expression grew stern so fast the change was comical. She knew he wasn't really angry with her, but this _was_ the second time she'd interrupted his flirtations by talking about Remus. "Ooh! Ever the mood-killer, you are."

Hermione couldn't help herself, there was something new and intriguing about being around these two when they were so . . . _tangible_ was the only way she could think of it. Touchable . . . close . . . In a way that had never been in the version of these men she'd known.

Flicking a brow upward for the briefest second, she said, "Is that why you think I brought up Remus at a time like this?"

With a sideways tip of his head, Sirius puzzled over her meaning. She stole the opportunity, dropping a quick kiss on the tip of his nose and then slipping from his arms. Watching her as she stood from the bed, giggling mischievously as she crossed the room to the door, Sirius' brows shot up.

"Noooo," he said in a whisper. There was no way she could mean—

 _"Oh my God!"_

In a blink, he was up, wand in hand as he ran out into the corridor. He followed the sound of Remus apologizing frantically.

"What the bloody hell . . . ?" Sirius felt like he'd lost the ability to speak as he found her standing in a doorway of the smaller bedroom, Remus staring up at her as he held her bag in one hand and items he'd clearly found within it's magically extended recesses in the other.

"Hermione, please," Remus tried again, his eyes fastened on the fuming witch as she stormed across the floor and snatched her bag from him. "Let me explain—"

"Explain what? That you expect me to trust you—to put my life in your hands and let you protect me—but the moment I fall asleep you start rifling through my things?" She hurriedly stuffed the rest of her belonging into the bag.

"Fuckin' hell, Moony," Sirius said, wincing.

"Fucking hell _Moony_?" the werewolf echoed, wide-eyed. "It was your suggestion!"

" _What?!_ " Hermione's voice was so shrill it actually cracked as she spun on her heel to face the other wizard.

Sirius' face fell as he held up a finger. "Whoa, that's not what I meant! I wasn't being—good god _dammit_ , I hate this word—serious! You were so wound up about it that I just said that as a way to point out that you were starting to get a bit frantic about it, and there was a better way to—"

His words died on his lips as Hermione shot past him, hurrying through the house and down the stairs.

They both called after her, and she knew she couldn't just be on her own here in 1981 with no friends or family or place to go, but she couldn't really look at them right now, either. And none of them knew what Voldemort was up to—whether he was actively looking for her or dismissed her as some random witch in the wrong place at the wrong time, a person he'd kill if ever saw her again, but otherwise wasn't bothering with her. None of them had any idea if she was safe unless she came face-to-face with the Dark Lord, or if running across _any_ of his minions might be the end of her.

Stopping on the first floor landing, she lifted her gaze. They were both peering down at her over the second floor banister.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head at them, feeling her eyes well up. She'd been so stupid. Of course they didn't feel they could trust her! They barely knew her and she'd already lied to them once. Even knowing she might've done the same in Remus' stead, she couldn't deal with these jumbled feelings so close to them both right now.

"I just . . . I need some air. I need to think. Please, _please,_ don't follow me."

The wizards deflated as they watched her vanish out the front door.

After a few heartbeats, Remus became aware that Sirius was staring at him. Turning his head, he met Sirius' gaze. "Don't even say it."

Shrugging, Sirius held up his hands. They stood in silence for another couple of seconds before he asked, "We're going to follow her, aren't we?"

Remus' shoulders slumped as he started down the staircase. "Of course we're going to follow her." He paused, looking up at Sirius, gesturing for the other man to come along as he tacked on, "Just close enough to make sure trouble doesn't find her."

Sirius rolled his eyes as he plodded down the steps after Remus, muttering in a disgruntled tone, "Dear God, that woman's going to hex our bits off."


	7. Spies Like Me

**Chapter Seven**

Spies Like Me

Hermione stopped at a shopfront window, eyeing her reflection. Dear God, her hair was a nightmare! It had been wild and loose yesterday when Voldemort had seen her. Looking like this, there was no way she wouldn't be recognized. All he had to do was tell his followers 'find the Muggle-dressed girl whose hair looks like who-did-it-and-ran!'

Shaking her head, she spared a moment to fish inside her bag for an elastic band. It was still early enough in the morning that she could hope no one of consequence would spot her, anyway.

But, she reminded herself, while carefully finger-combing her mad locks down into order and starting to pull them flush against her scalp in a tight braid, that also meant Gladrags Wizardwear wasn't likely to be open just yet. She winced and cringed as she worked to make her hair at least appear neat—never an easy or painless task with a mane like hers—at last bundling up the end of the braid in the elastic band.

Nodding to her reflection, she started walking again. Now that her nerves were starting to settle a bit, and the delicious scents from the bakeshop further along were wafting through the air, she realized she was hungry. And caffeine deprived.

If she'd had the presence of mind, she would have grabbed some of the leftovers from the food Rosmerta had sent them off with last night. Of course, that would do nothing for her need of coffee—or a spot of _really_ strong tea—but at least her stomach wouldn't be gnawing on itself right now.

She held in a sigh as she cast a glance back toward the Shrieking Shack. How stupid she'd been. She should've known at least one of them would still be questioning her very presence, never mind her story—especially after Peter. But _still_ it stung, even if she was aware her anger wasn't wholly reasonable.

Reaching the bakeshop, she plastered a smile on her face and stepped inside. Behind the counter, a plump little witch beamed at her, ruddy cheeks adorably sprinkled with flour.

"Morning Miss. What'll it be?"

"Coffee, please, um black, two sugars. And, uh, what sort of scones d'you have?"

"Oh, if I might suggest?" the bake-witch crinkled the bridge of her nose as she nodded. "I would choose our chocolate-strawberry, were I you. Goes _perfect_ with that first morning cuppa."

"Sounds lovely. I'll have that, then, thank you."

Hermione waited, looking about as her order was rung up. She thought she might be too agitated to stay still for long, and so spared a moment to be thankful paper cups weren't simply some Muggle convention, or she'd be stuck sitting in here. Of course, the kind she'd find in Hogsmeade or any Wizarding establishment that allowed takeaway had a minor enchantment that enabled things to dispose of themselves. Paying and letting the baker keep a nice tip, she pocketed the rest of her money and wandered toward the shopfront window, peering out into the street.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage at the distant glinting of sunlight off pale, silver-blond hair. Swallowing hard, she watched the person draw close enough to make out their features. Oh, dear lord . . . . That was _definitely_ a young Lucius Malfoy.

And he seemed to be coming this way.

Hermione backpedaled, trying to keep her features schooled. The baker had just set her items upon the counter, she only glanced at them. "Sorry, but d'you by chance have a wash room? I'm just feel the need to wash my hands, real quick, if that's all right?"

"Certainly, right back there," the other witch said, pointing.

Forcing a smile, Hermione nodded toward her purchase. "I'll be right back for those, thank you."

She hurried in the direction indicated, and it seemed just in time, too. Right as she stepped into the small corridor leading to the washroom, she heard the shop's door open. Turning, she carefully ducked her head back to peer around the bend in the wall. She told herself she was being stupid, Lucius Malfoy in 1981 wouldn't know her from Eve, however, given that he was a known supporter of Voldemort's espoused ideals of pure-blood supremacy—didn't it ever bother any of them that they were pure-bloods bending knee to a half-blood? That point always bugged her, that they were so goal-oriented, the means to their end didn't matter—and she _was_ dressed like a Muggle right now.

That was when an idea struck her.

Popping her head into the washroom for a quick look, she smoothed some water over her hair to calm any fly-aways and made sure she looked tidy. She even went so far as cast a minor glamour charm on her hair, lightening it to a deep blond, and switch out her t-shirt for another from her bag so she was not dressed exactly as she'd been when Voldemort had seen her, before squaring her shoulders and trooping back out toward the counter, her head held high. Her quick-change had taken all of half a minute, she thought.

As she reached for her coffee and scone, she met his gaze in a cool, sidelong glance. She barely kept her features schooled as his lip curled in that Malfoy sneer of disgust she recalled so well. A Mudblood giving him a snooty look? Well, how dare they! Blah, blah, blah.

Instead of getting rattled, as the baker fetched his coffee—clearly even Death Eaters needed a jolt of caffeine in the morning, but she took that to mean his Lord'd had him out all night, or dragged him out of bed in the wee hours of dawn, otherwise at this hour, he'd likely be home just finishing up a proper breakfast—she turned her attention on the woman puttering about behind the counter. Hermione was very careful not to give Lucius too long a look at her entire face.

Tipping her head every so slightly toward him, she said in a low voice, "The Malfoys of Wizarding France send their regards."

Those icy grey eyes shot wide. God, it was unsettling how much he resembled a taller, broader-shouldered Draco. Huh, now that she thought on it, Draco Malfoy probably wouldn't look all that bad if he grew his hair longer, like his fathers. Oh, but what was she thinking? Right now Draco was a year and a half old.

He didn't speak, merely giving her Muggle attire a confused once-over.

She smirked, grabbing her cup and taking a slow, grateful sip. "Don't look like that," she whispered, mustering up every recollection of that combination of acid, impatience, and boredom in Draco's tone whenever he'd addressed her during their first few years at Hogwarts. "How else is one supposed to blend in with filthy blood-traitors, and their even _filthier_ little Mudblood friends?"

His brow furrowing, Lucius shook his head. "Who are you?"

"No one of consequence. Other channels of communication being compromised, coming here in person was the only option." She knew perfectly well what he'd take away from that statement—contacting his relatives would be out of the question, she _was_ the means of contact.

As he took his coffee from the portly witch—whose smile had lost some of its cheeriness, clearly she was aware something was going on here, and not simply because one of her patrons had popped back from the washroom looking different from how she'd gone in—he flashed a mirthless, tight-lipped grin at Hermione. "A word outside, if you would?"

She started to answer, only to find his hand gripping her elbow to tug her out of the shop behind him. "Well, since you're asking nicely," she answered in hissing breath as he continued to pull her until they were around the side of the shop in a shadowed little alleyway. At least the diminished light in here would help keep her features obscured a bit. Even if he saw her face-to-face after this, he'd be unsure if she was the same witch.

He relinquished his hold, but stood with his back to the mouth of the alley, blocking her from the street. "My family sent you?"

Rolling her eyes, she took another sip. "We'll leave it at we've relatives who travel in the same circles." That wasn't too far from the truth—both the Malfoy and Granger families had roots in France, she knew that much, and she remembered one thing that stuck with her from all those spy dramas her dad loved watching. The best lies were the ones that held a grain of truth.

"Anyway," she hurried on before he could ask anything more. "We know about your Dark Lord's failure last night to locate the Potters. Pettigrew has been compromised, and your leader will understand that means he's no longer of use. Leave him imprisoned with the ruddy Order. He doesn't have enough valuable information on any of your cohorts, anyway. Not anything that isn't already suspected, but can't be proven."

His jaw dropped at the wealth of information she divulged so simply. She could only know of this if . . . if she had some sort of inside track. "How do you know all this?"

Hermione relished this moment as she flicked her gaze over Lucius Malfoy as though he'd just proven himself the village idiot. Oh, he _didn't_ like that. "Because we have ears everywhere. Why else would there be need for any of us to masquerade as a damn Mudblood, Malfoy? Think!"

Lucius scowled.

"But I'm not here to quibble over what's already done. Which brings us back to your Dark Lord." She took the opportunity to tear into her scone, at this rate she thought it just might go stale in her hand before she got to have a bite. When she was done chewing and swallowed—no _proper_ pure-blood would be caught dead speaking with their mouth full—she continued. "I can tell you, we know if he'd succeeded last night, it would've ended him, not the Potter child."

"You're joking."

"Not in the slightest. That turn of events was foreseen. We know . . . ." She made a show of softening her expression before going on. "I know that what you want isn't about him, at all. Your loyalty isn't to him, it's to what he's promising."

His face fell completely. "How could you—?"

"Don't ask too many questions," she snapped, hiding a grin at how funny it was to see him jump at her abruptness. "I know a great deal about you, Lucius. Most of it I find highly repugnant, but one thing I find admirable is your love for your family. That is the message I'm here to deliver. Whatever happens from here on out, you make whatever decisions will serve to protect them. Family above all else. Do you understand?"

Hermione was perfectly confident that this was the man's Achilles' heel. She delivered her 'message' with conviction, because it truly _was_ the one thing about the Malfoys she found admirable. Nothing came before their family. Their behavior in the last hours of the Second War had proved that, while his own willingness to turn on his fellows and provide information to the Ministry after the First War had shown where his loyalties lay.

Family first, pure-blood supremacy second, everything else whenever the bloody hell they deigned to give it consideration. It should be their motto if it wasn't a bulky mouthful.

"I do," he said, his voice perhaps shockingly level.

"He is not as strong as he seems, and some day he will fall. When that day comes, you _will_ act to spare your family, not _him_. Do you understand?"

Lucius nodded.

"Good. You are _not_ to try to contact us or find us, you are not to compromise your place within your Dark Lord's ranks in the meanwhile." She paused to finish her scone and washed it down with the last sip of coffee. After the cup was empty, she tapped the side twice and it promptly vanished from her hand. Hermione withdrew her wand, noting how completely convinced Lucius Malfoy was that she was on his side, because he didn't even flinch. "You are to tell no one of our meeting. This conversation never happened. You don't even know who I am. We're clear?"

He gave her another once-over, albeit this one a tad puzzled. "I _don't_ know who you are."

The witch smirked, nodding. "Exactly." She Disapparated on that note.

Though, she only reappeared in the alleyway behind The Hog's Head, she froze, listening for anything. Finding no one about back here, she crept toward the mouth of the alleyway to peek out at the bakeshop. She'd have given anything to have seen the look on Lucius Malfoy's face when she vanished.

Wouldn't the Order be happy to know one of Voldemort's 'most faithful' had no true faith in him, at all?

She watched Lucius backpedal out into the street. He turned, his expression somber, if still a bit confused, as he started along the road out of Hogsmeade.

Ducking back into hiding, she dispelled the charm on her hair and breathed a sigh of . . . she wasn't even sure if it could be called relief. It had all been true, or at least as true as she could make it, but now she knew for certain, that if the time came, if the option was there to choose between something the Dark Lord wanted and something that would ensure his family's safety, Lucius Malfoy would let his leader twist in the wind.

The knowledge gave her pause. Lucius couldn't be the only one who had some little kernel of decency buried way down deep in the darkest recesses of his otherwise worthless soul, could he? If she could figure out who those others were, what it was they valued something more than Voldemort's twisted promises?

Before she could think further on that, she spied two very familiar wizards coming down the block toward the bakeshop. It seemed a small wonder they'd missed Lucius dragging a blonde version of her out the door by a few minutes!

Honestly, though, were they following her? Oh, bloody hell, of course they were. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped from the alley and made a beeline for Gladrags which was just opening its doors for the day, in plain view of them.

She couldn't help but laugh. They had to know she wouldn't be happy if she found them following her. It was adorable, really. She didn't underestimate them, she realized as she entered the shop and went straight to the seamstress. No, no, they were underestimating her. They didn't expect her to think they'd do this after her blow up at them this morning.

* * *

An hour later, Hermione emerged from the shop, a cloak and extra robes tucked away in her beaded bag along with her muggle attire, and clad in a set of pretty, Ravenclaw-blue robes that fit her like a snug medieval princess gown. Next stop? The potions and tonics shop on the corner for a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. She wouldn't have to worry about keeping her hair bound in some headache-inducing style if she could tame it's occasionally unbearable wildness.

As she stepped away from the curb onto the cobblestone street, she heard it. The faintest words of a song. Pausing midstride, she listened. The voice, though low right now, was beautiful—dulcet, with just the slightest edging of gravel to it.

While she concentrated, the soft words became clearer. Somewhere behind her, someone was singing a song that she knew was popular during this time period—hell, still was—on Muggle radio stations.

Turning on her heel, she followed the gorgeously voiced words of _Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic_. Rounding the corner, she found the pair seated on the pavement, backs to the wall, and tucked beneath the shadow of the building's awning. Leaning her hip against the brick wall, she folded her arms under her breasts as Sirius lifted his gaze to hers, smiling as he went on singing.

"With your whole 'rebelling means indulging in Muggle things,' phase, I should've guessed that'd mean you'd know The Police."

Remus didn't speak, merely looking up at her with apologetic eyes as Sirius continued on with the song.

A smile curved her lips. "Is this your way of saying sorry?"

They each nodded.

"Good!" She hurried over and smooshed herself between them to sit down on the ground. "Because I have _loads_ to tell you two about what happened after I left this morning!"

Certain she had their undivided attention, she proceeded to let them in on her charade with Lucius Malfoy in a hushed voice. She was positive, from their reactions, that they were thinking exactly what she was about the entire thing.

That the Order could probably do with a few more spies like her.


	8. Captain Obvious

**Chapter Eight**

Captain Obvious

"I thought it was decided you're staying put," Sirius said in a conspiratorial whisper as he disinterestedly examined the spine of a random book before sliding the volume back into place upon the shelf.

Hermione's brows pinched upward ever so slightly though she didn't lift her gaze from the book open in her hands. "Technically what we decided was that it's best if I don't try to go _home_ until we're sure there's a way for me to accomplish that without undoing what's happened here." It had also been decided that rather than discussing timelines in matters of future, past, or present, they would simply refer to them as here, there, or Hermione's home, so that should anyone overhear their chats, her unwilling time-meddling would not be easily deduced.

Remus chimed in from behind Sirius, his own nose stuck in a book, "I was quite cautious . . . and, for want of a more fitting descriptive, angry—"

"I'll say," the witch and animagus interrupted together, much to the werewolf's chagrin.

"Shut up, you two." Though even as he admonished them, Remus was relieved that after how terribly this morning had gone they were all getting on well again. "As I was saying, when we first discussed the issue last night, we were all rattled and lacking for sleep. Now that I've had time to think about it, she's not wrong. There _might_ be a way and were we to simply not even try to find it, that wouldn't be very fair to her."

Sirius looked from one bookworm to the other and back. "But won't this all just get her hopes up if it turns out there's nothing _to_ find?"

Remus pursed his lips and nodded. "Pretty sure she'd prefer not being spoken of as though she's not standing right there."

Jet brows shooting upward, Sirius winced. Sure, Remus had started it, but it seemed a bizarre rule of the Wizarding world—as though they'd all had a meeting without him and came to an agreement on the matter—that Remus was rarely blamed for things, but Sirius Black? Oh, he had trouble written all over him, so of _course_ he could be the one taken to task for whatever went wrong.

Not that Sirius minded terribly being regarded as having trouble written all over him, he knew perfectly well the sort of thoughts his looks made other people have, but in instances where he'd really done nothing wrong, it felt a bit unfair.

He turned his attention to Hermione only to find her staring at the pages before her. She wasn't reading; the look in her eyes was distant, unseeing.

Sirius nudged Remus' ribs with his elbow. The werewolf snapped his gaze toward the other man before also turning to look at the witch.

"Hermione?" Sirius started, his voice gentle as he took a step closer to her. "You okay?"

"Hmm?" She lifted her face, sniffling in spite of herself. Here she bloody went again. "Sorry, sorry." She closed the book and held it out toward Remus. "This one might be of some use."

When Remus only watched the book in her hand for a moment, Sirius hissed under his breath. Snatching it from her grip, he pressed the book against Remus' chest until the werewolf reflexively grabbed hold of it. Fast it was becoming painfully obvious that neither of them knew what to do about a crying female any more than they'd known last night.

"Do you not want to do this?" Sirius ventured, his usually confident voice uncertain.

Her mouth pulled into an angry little pout as she considered how to explain. "It's complicated. You're right, of course, it could crush me if we try and find nothing, it should be easier to simply accept that I probably don't have a way home. But it's not easier, not really, because it makes me think about everything I've been forced to leave behind."

She looked from one to the other and back. They both appeared somber on her behalf. "I'm lucky I found you two as quick as I did. Found something, _anything_ familiar to me. Can you imagine me just bumbling around on my own, messing things up for people?"

Biting his lip, Remus snickered while he shook his head. His mirth evaporated in a blink and he said in a soft voice, "Maybe that wasn't luck."

Her brow furrowed and she gave herself a little shake. "What do you mean?"

"Well . . . ." He shrugged, hefting the books he'd collected and the one she'd selected under one arm. "Hogsmeade isn't exactly one small spot on the ground, is it? It's a _village_. Apparition isn't exact unless you're _aiming_ for a specific point. Were you?"

Spine stiffening a little, she shook her head. "No. I was in a bit of a panic, actually, I just wanted to get here. I wasn't thinking exact anything. I just wanted to get someplace that felt familiar and it was the first thing that came to mind."

Remus nodded. "Yet you just so happened to pop up right there, where _we_ were standing."

"You're suggesting the magic _sensed_ we were familiar to her?" Sirius pinched between his brows and snapped shut his eyes. "God, I hate thinking this much so early in the morning."

Distracted from her woes by Sirius' nonsense, she frowned. "Does he always downplay his own intelligence like this?"

"You've no idea," Remus answered with a sigh. "I'm guessing you're used to him not bothering with the ploy."

"Pretty much."

"Oi," the dark-haired man cut in with a frown. "I am standing right here."

Hermione granted him a withering stare. "Yeah? Well maybe now you'll know better than treat yourself like you're an idiot around us."

His shoulders drooped. "I know I'm not an idiot. But it's fair to say I'm not like the two of you."

She tried to think of what word to supply that would tread the line between the more studious nature of her and Remus and the savvier, fluid intelligence Sirius displayed. "Um, you mean bookish?"

Pivoting to face her, Remus grinned. He'd evidently been thinking along the same lines. "Bookish! Yes, perfect. Bookish he is not!"

Sirius expression soured over the moment of camaraderie that most distinctly did not include him. "You two finished being all chummy or should I wait outside the shop?"

Hermione let out a scoffing laugh. Looping one of her arms around his elbow she rested her head on his shoulder. "Oh, please. We all needed a bit of levity just now."

He looked at Remus for a few heartbeats before turning his attention to the witch, his gaze sweeping over her features. "Yeah, yeah. Are we finished here?"

"Well, hang on." She lifted her head, holding his gaze. "What were you saying about the magic sensing that you were familiar to me?"

Sirius shrugged, very aware of the way she stood so close to him and having no desire to put any space between them. "Wait just a moment." Instead of anything that might pull them apart, he scooted her over until she was pushed into Remus' side. Reaching across her with his free hand, Sirius lifted her wrist to circle her fingers around Remus' elbow.

Hermione and Remus exchanged a look, both unable to help smirking.

"All right, that's better." Sirius gave what seemed a stern nod before he finally answered her. "It makes sense. Maybe the magic read it from you, the same way it reads a desired destination."

"I've never thought about that before," she said, nodding mechanically. "It does make one wonder, though—"

"What other sort or magics might be affected by our feelings," Remus finished for her.

"Well, were already know more . . . for lack of a better term, personal spells are effected by emotion." She offered a shrug of her own. "For instance, the—" She cut herself off as she quickly glanced around and then lowered her voice. "The Cruciatus Curse is more potent when the caster is angry."

Sirius shook his head. "But familiarity is something more . . . targeted, more specific."

She chewed at her lip in thought. "Exactly. What if magic is more sentient of a force than what is generally accepted by teachings of the Wizarding world?"

Puffing out his cheeks, Remus exhaled loudly. "I sincerely have no idea what that would mean."

"Neither do I," she said. "But it certainly is interesting to consider."

"Could this be of some help trying to get you home?"

She considered Sirius' question with a thoughtful frown. Her chest was heavy at the idea of never going home again. But it was also heavy at the thought of leaving them behind. This, she realized, was the emotional folly of getting close to them. _Here_ she'd only known them for a day, but at home, where these two standing beside her had never been . . . . She pushed that aside for the time being.

"I honestly haven't the foggiest, but I don't think so. This might not change anything at all." She sagged between them. "As Remus said, there's a chance nothing comes of even looking. And I have to be prepared for that, because he was right in what he said last night. If we can't find a way for me to go home that won't change things here, then that's all there is to it. I'll just have to stay here."

Both men looked at a loss for what to say. She couldn't blame them—if she were in their shoes, she wouldn't know what words of comfort or advice, or whatever, to offer, either.

Making a miserable face, she tacked on, "Stuck with the two of you! _God!_ What an awful fate!"

Remus burst out laughing as Sirius snorted a chuckle.

"C'mon," the werewolf said, starting to walk and tugging her along behind him—which dragged Sirius in their wake on account of their linked arms. "Let's go buy these and get you back out of sight."

* * *

As they stood at the counter having the books rung up, Hermione felt a tickle along the back of her neck, the fine hairs standing on end. It wasn't a touch. Remus' and Sirius' free hands were too far away, their occupied hands on her arms, still.

No, it felt more like . . . . A wash of cold filled the pit of her stomach. Like she was being _watched._

Swallowing hard, she turned her head. The conversation her wizard and werewolf were holding with the witch at the register ceased to make sense to her ears as she looked around the ground floor of the bookshop.

There was the strangest sense crawling along her skin that whatever had set its gaze upon her _knew_ her. She was suddenly very aware of her own breathing. Of the weight of her new, fine cloak on her shoulders. Of the tightness of the braid her typically wild hair had been pulled into—she hadn't yet had the chance to use her Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Even the press of her pretty blue robes around her, more fitted than her Muggle clothes, was rather immediately a notice she could not escape.

All these things made her look like another person, save for her features. A random witch in a wizarding village, but . . . this cognizance. Whatever was watching her knew her face—knew _her_.

 _Hermione?_

The voice was oddly muffled. Her head felt fuzzy . . . .

"Hermione!"

She started, snapping her head around to meet Sirius' wide-eyed gaze. "Huh?" The word fell from her lips in a reflexive tumble of sound.

Worry creasing his features, he glanced at Remus—who in turn looked about the shop floor, trying to locate whatever had held their witch's attention—Sirius turned from his place beside her to face her, clamping gentle hands over her shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah," again she spoke reflexively. Thinking better on her response, she shook her head. Now that her she'd lost whatever connection had been made a moment ago, she felt nothing. The shop was full of daylight, whirls of dust motes, the smell of books and the chatter of other customers.

No ominous, lurking thing that was observing her from some unseen vantage point.

"Sorry, I just had the oddest sense that . . . ." Looking between Remus and Sirius, she went on in a whisper as she tugged them toward the door of the shop, explaining precisely what she'd felt just now.

As they exited, they all agreed they did not like that at all. "You're going to come with us today."

Hermione's eyes widened as Remus started leading the way back toward the Shack. "Wait, what?" That hadn't been the plan. No, no. She was going to stay in the Shack, safely warded and studying the books they'd just purchased, while the two of them checked in with the Order.

Remus halted, the movement abrupt as he whirled on his heel to face her. "That back there? Whatever that was, it can't be good. If someone—or worse, some _thing—_ knows who you are, then it stands to reason they know where you're from, and it means you are in more danger than we thought."

"He's right." Sirus' typically bright voice was grave as he nodded. "We can't let you stay here alone. We promised we'd keep you safe, remember?"

Hermione didn't know what was worse—that something was possibly after her, or that she was about to come face-to-face with a load of people she wasn't mentally prepared to handle. Albus Dumbledore before he'd had the chance to twist up his already warped morals further by deciding to place an infant in an neglectful home? The Weasleys while Molly was still pregnant with Ginny? Oh, God . . . . James Potter and Lily Evans . . . .

Her heart fell into her stomach at the reality that she would meet the parents Harry had never gotten to.

She ignored the stinging in the tip of her nose and blinked her vision clear. "Okay, okay." Hermione nodded, marshaling her emotional strength. "I can do this. I can. We all know what story we're telling everyone about me, so . . . I'm sure it will be fine."

Remus winced as Sirius responded, "Well, I wouldn't be _that_ optimistic. This could blow up in all our faces and see to you being interrogated by Dumbledore."

Her face fell and she met his gaze with a quelling glare.

He crinkled the bridge of his nose and said to Remus, "Not the time for stating the obvious, was it?"

His expression pained, Remus shook his head.


End file.
